


Chaos came with a bang

by taralynden



Series: Chaos [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Accidents, M/M, Secret Relationship, medical drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 49,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taralynden/pseuds/taralynden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in the Ark was often complicated, but things get out of control when Wheeljack and Ratchet are both seriously injured in an accident. Can First Aid save them? Will Sideswipe take on a new career? And in all the chaos will Bumblebee figure out Jazz's biggest secret?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue : How it all started

**Author's Note:**

> Universe: G1-AU  
> Warnings: slash pairings, mechanical gore (in later parts)  
> Pairings: Jazz/Prowl (secret), Ratchet/Wheeljack
> 
> A/N: This was originally posted in a somewhat draft form on LJ in 2009, with a vague promise that I would get around to cleaning it up and posting it properly sometime in the future. Well thanks to 1readervb's interest, that time has come.
> 
> ~blah~ is comm-speak ; blah is Cybertronian

Large as it was, at first no-one thought much of the explosion.

It had come from Wheeljack's lab, after all, and it was not like that was unusual. In fact, the occurrances were so commonplace that no-one at all went to investigate because they all knew Ratchet would take care of it. No-one was even concerned about it until three breems after the change of shift when Cliffjumper realised his replacement on monitor duty was not going to turn up. Nor was he responding to comm calls. Fully aware of how easily the inventor could be distracted and keen to get off-duty himself, Cliffjumper popped his head into Prowl's office to demand someone else be assigned to the job. But the SIC wasn't there. Nor did he respond to a comm ping. Frustrated by all the delays keeping him from what he wanted to be doing - specifically, watching his favourite soap opera on the television in the rec room - he transferred the duty over to Teletran's automated system and sent Prowl a text message then took off before he missed too much of his show.

Prowl, for his part, had started the day quite normally just after midnight, but the calm had been disrupted just after the shift change by the arrival of an irate Ratchet. The medic railed at him over the hours he was working since arriving on Earth and the lack of charge time that resulted in, and ordered him to his quarters to rest before Ratchet took official action and put him on medical stand-down. He felt it was an overreaction on the medic's part but he had elected to do as requested rather than try Ratchet's patience. He had known the longer shifts would come to the CMO's attention at some point, he just wished it had taken another few days so he could have finished clearing the backlog from the last battle first.

In any case, he had dutifully returned to his quarters and charged, rousing at the impact of the explosion and waiting to be summoned to deal with the fallout as he inevitably was.

After twenty minutes with no such summons, he resigned himself to the fact that Ratchet was even more annoyed with him than with Wheeljack right now, and then had returned to charge until the end of the morning shift when he had been woken by the unexpected and very welcome company of his bondmate. Jazz was equally delighted that they actually had a good portion of off-duty time that coincided for the first time in a very long time. Usually they conscientiously ensured that their recreational time did not overlap to keep anyone from guessing about their relationship, the result being that there simply was no relationship to speak of. This, however, was pure serendipity and so was perfectly legitimate. And since Jazz was scheduled for recharge time now, no-one would come looking for him, which meant that they had several hours of uninterrupted private time.

Which was why, when Cliffjumper's text message arrived just as Jazz was stroking his door panels in that particular way he had, Prowl decided to simply forward the problem on to Optimus with a memo that he was off duty on Ratchet's request then deliberately turned off all but the emergency comm.

Optimus Prime was driving through a shallow valley enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on his panels when the text came through. Technically, he was on duty. At least, he was not officially _off_ -duty. It had been a very long while since he had last seen his own name on the duty rosters, since about the time he had promoted Prowl, actually. His second was a saint of organisation, usually preparing for contingencies Optimus had not even considered, to the point where everyone had simply come to rely on that in spite of the fact that it was not supposed to be his role as battle tactician. Which was why when he received the text message he was so startled by its contents that he slammed on his brakes.

"Primus! Mind givin' us some warning before you do that, Prime?" Ironhide demanded as he swerved to avoid crashing into him.

"Sorry, Ironhide. I just got a strange message from Prowl."

"From Prowl? Strange? Strange how?"

Optimus ignored the question for a moment, trying to connect an audio comm link to Prowl. No response. Next he tried Ratchet. No luck there either, but then it may well be the CMO's recharge cycle anyway. Turning slowly, he began heading back to the _Ark_.

"Doesn't make sense." he muttered to himself. "Maybe it's some kind of code?"

"What is?"

He forwarded the message on to Ironhide in its entirety and was mildly amused to see his friend nearly stall in surprise.

"He's calling you because Wheeljack's late for monitor duty? And he's on medical leave? Since when?"

Trying to connect to at least one of his other officers, Optimus tried Jazz next. He thought for a moment it had not gone through, then received a text reply.

_Problem, boss?_

_Why is your comm switched off?_

There was a pause, then Jazz's comm switched on.

~Havin' a bit o' private time, if y'know what I mean. You need me for somethin'? I can disengage if you'll gimme a few clicks.~

~No that's not necessary.~ Optimus said quickly. ~I won't keep you. You haven't seen Prowl or Ratchet in the past joor have you?~

Another pause, but this time he was less concerned by the gap and more upset that he was disturbing a sparksharing. He only hoped that Jazz's partner for the activity was tolerant of the saboteur's distraction.

~Saw Prowl on his recharge berth not too long ago.~ Jazz came back finally. ~Seems Hatchet threatened to lock'im outta his office if he doesn't take some time out. Haven't seen the Hatchet myself, though. I think he's on recharge this shift. You want me to get Prowl to call you?~

~No, that's fine. I'll get Perceptor to handle this.~

~Sure thing. Shout out if ya need anythin' else.~

Jazz signed off and Optimus stopped again, this time staring blankly out at the horizon, wondering if he dared order Prowl to find someone to sparkshare with. That would reduce his tension levels much quicker than just basic recharge. The problem was Prowl would not fraternise with the soldiers - he said it was unprofessional and would complicate the decisions he had to make as part of his job - and that cut his options down severely. Ratchet was pretty much dedicated to Wheeljack; Perceptor and Red Alert each had... whatever they had... with Gears and Inferno respectively and didn't share outside of that; and he and Ironhide were both devoted to their femmes. Which still left Jazz, but the mech's casual nature was unlikely to appeal to the rule-bound Praxian. Besides he often got the feeling those two tolerated each other best by ensuring they never spent too much time in each other's company. They certainly took great care in ensuring they had practically no shared off-duty time in the rosters they created.

"Well?" Ironhide asked.

"He may just be exhausted." Optimus responded, pulling his thoughts back to the original issue. "Jazz says he was in recharge a short while ago. I don't think anything particularly serious is going on. I'll get Perceptor to find someone to cover Wheeljack's shift and deal with him when we get back, but for now lets go have a proper look at this new dam site. Grapple will be getting impatient."

Back at the _Ark_ , meanwhile, Prowl caught Jazz's hands and frowned at him.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. It's distracting."

"Well it's your own fault. Prime was trying to call _you_ and since he couldn't get you he tried me."

Prowl stared at him in dismay.

"Tell me you didn't tell him what you were doing."

"Course I did. You want me to lie to our illustrious leader? On the other hand, I didn't tell'im who I was doin' it _with_..."

Prowl slumped back against the berth.

"Primus, Jazz..."

Jazz grinned wickedly.

"I don't think he'll be callin' back for awhile." Then Jazz's smile faded. "Course, now I'll have t'go find an excuse so we've got a cover."

They were both still for a moment, considering that. It was a long-standing agreement that Jazz would divert attention from them by dallying with others, and thus far it had always worked. He would cultivate short-term relationships, frequently culminating in intimacies that others assumed proved his solo status, before moving on to another target. His other lovers were rarely confused about the temporary nature of their relationships, and when they were Jazz quickly set them right, but thus far no-one had ever guessed that the cheerful, hedonistic mech was simply acting a part in these liaisons. For his part, Prowl knew he had no competition for Jazz's true affections regardless of what others believed.

"Go." Prowl agreed. "Best that it be close to the time Prime called. But then come back to me and let me wipe his touch off you."

Jazz had started to rise at the first part, but now paused and looked back down at him in surprise.

"You're just gonna lay here waitin' for me? What about your work?"

Prowl smiled, stretching lazily.

"You forget: I'm on orders to stay in my berth."

The sober determination in Jazz's expression melted away into an impish grin.

"Riiiight. Remind me to send Ratchet a big vat of high grade for this later."

"Just hurry back."

"Will do!"


	2. The calm before the storm

"Busy?"

Blaster looked around, surprised since he had thought he was alone in the hallway, and spotted a grinning Jazz lounging against a wall down a side corridor.

"I just got off duty," Blaster answered, "thought I'd go check out the latest top fifty."

Jazz nodded thoughtfully, notably not making a comment on the latest chart-topper, and Blaster smiled to himself: Jazz was like this sometimes, and it always led to only one thing. It had been awhile, and the last he had heard Jazz was sharing Windcharger's berth. Not that that meant anything at all. The Head of Special Ops was a source of constant dismay to the other officers in his seeming determination to sparkshare with every soldier in the unit. And since their numbers kept increasing since they had arrived on Earth, Jazz had fewer targets to keep himself occupied with, so he tended to turn up like this more often than in the past.

"Your berth or mine?" Blaster asked as they continued to walk.

Jazz's expression flickered to one of distaste before resettling on a more neutral mien.

"Yours. Prowl's on med leave."

That explained that, then. And perhaps it explained this too. Jazz and Prowl worked well enough together, but there were few mechs as different as those two: one so utterly spontaneous and unrestrained that it was a source of constant amazement that Prime put up with him in the officers ranks; the other so logical and structured that Blaster occasionally wondered uncharitably if he was not just a particularly sophisticated drone rather than a properly sparked mech. The fact that they had ended up sharing quarters was an unhappy circumstance, but they usually managed to ensure they spent almost no time there together. This, though, was Jazz's scheduled down time, and Blaster knew how the saboteur loved to while away his first breem or so after a shift listening to music and relaxing. As for his current mood, it was probably just a snap decision made when he had spotted Blaster alone in the hallway. It could easily have been anyone.

Anyone other than Prowl, anyway.

He could refuse, of course. Jazz would not take it badly, he would just find someone else, and nothing more would be said. But there was nowhere else he had to be, and this would be fun. It always was, with Jazz. No commitment, no complications, just a few breems of good company and tension release. His attention flicked briefly to his roommates' schedules as they turned down the final corridor, then reassured himself that they were both on patrol. They would have the room to themselves.

Jazz waited as he opened the door and went in, then caught him from behind and swung him up against the wall even as the door closed. As his equilibrium returned, the shorter mech's hands were already teasing him, ghosting over sensitive nodes and caressing the seam along his right side. Poor Jazz, he thought as he met the slightly desperate touches with moves of his own. Finding Prowl in their quarters must really have upset the other mech for he was showing none of his usual restraint, but that suited Blaster just fine. Mostly Jazz retained control in these little trysts, and Blaster was going to take full advantage of his lapse.

Feeling the energy beginning to pulse between them, he slid his hands over Jazz's shoulders and into the dip that he knew was particularly sensitive. Jazz's vocaliser glitched a little and he pitched awkwardly forward as an unexpectedly quick overload hit him, which sent Blaster over the edge as well. Blaster shuddered at the power of the sharing, nearly losing his own footing and falling on top of the other mech. It had never been this intense with Jazz before. Their unions had always been satisfying, but playful. This was more desperate, and it made him wonder why. Jazz seemed strangely shocked at the release, and Blaster began to smile smugly. No-one had ever gotten the better of the saboteur that he was aware of; was this the first time? If so, he intended to make the most of it, and braced himself against the wall before stroking Jazz's arms gently. The other mech swayed, then abruptly froze in place, raising a warning hand to stop Blaster from speaking or doing anything further. Blaster groaned inwardly, recognising the signs of a mech receiving a message and wondering if it was an attack. If so, he would likely be asked to send a ship-wide comm 'cast in a moment. A few clicks passed, then Jazz's optics focused on him and he transmitted a single word in text.

~Prime.~

Then he was pulling away, glancing apologetically at Blaster as he tried to walk off the remaining overload effects, clearly still listening to whatever orders he was being given. It ended with a short, formal nod as though Prime himself could see it, then a frustrated sigh which was clearly not aimed at their leader.

"Blaster, I'm sorry man, I've gotta find Prowl and get some stuff done. Maybe later?"

"Sure." Blaster nodded equably, knowing that there may well not be a 'later' any time in the next few orns.

That was just how it was with Jazz, and he accepted that. Still, it also meant that he did not need to virtuously wait for the saboteur to come back in order to subdue the outlet his body now craved. So. Who else was off duty this shift?

* * *

First Aid stepped into the med lab with his gaze fixed on the data pad before him. The hypothetical scenario Ratchet had set for him as theory work was a challenging one and he still was not sure he had covered all the angles on it, but he was happy with how far he had gotten and was ready to ask for help. These exercises always instigated fascinating discussions about things he had never considered before meeting the senior medic. All he had known in the past had been minor malfunctions and he had always known what had caused them and been able to reverse it, but there were so many variables he had never known about. It was a minor miracle that he had never done any irreparable harm with his limited knowledge of the past.

Looking up to admit defeat to his mentor, he paused in surprise. The room was completely empty. Checking his chronometer and then the duty roster he reassured himself that he was not abnormally early. So where was Ratchet? He set the pad down on one of the side benches and walked over to the open door on the far side of the bay. Ratchet's office was dark and empty. So was the storeroom when he thought to look there. Very strange. Perhaps he had just been called away, though. It happened.

Knowing that Ratchet would never abandon the lab for long, he checked the work plan for the shift. Two regular checkups were scheduled - Smokescreen and Pinpoint - and Huffer's knee joints needed lubricating. Tracks was supposed to come in for another energon infusion since he had still not fully recovered from when his friend Raoul had talked him into drinking some of the sludge the humans called fuel. And... Prowl was to come in for a CPU scan?

First Aid stared at that last item for a moment, wondering what that meant. Surely Ratchet did not think Prime's tactical officer and second in charge was having programming problems? No. More likely there was some other use for a CPU scan that he just did not understand yet. Or perhaps it was just another instance of Ratchet's peculiar sense of humour. No doubt all would become clear soon enough.

"Am I early?"

He looked over to the door to see Smokescreen entering.

"A little, but that's okay. I'm just setting up."

"Ratchet's finally letting you take a shift, then?" the psychologist asked, looking around curiously. "That was quick, for him."

First Aid shook his head.

"I'm sure he'll be back shortly, but I can get you hooked up and ready to go for when he gets here. That'll save some time."

* * *

Prowl shifted and felt Jazz's arms tighten around his torso.

"Not yet." his lover murmured. "Just a few clicks more. Please."

He gave that request some serious consideration. Jazz had returned far sooner than Prowl had expected given his mission - after all, should it not take some preparation to find and seduce a potential lover? - but had also been uncommonly agitated. Not distressed, but apparently angry with himself. He had paced back and forth for awhile, unwilling to explain or let Prowl touch him, before finally sinking down on the recharge berth and asking to be held. Though Prowl had hoped to continue what they had started earlier he sensed that Jazz was no longer in the mood so they had done little more than cuddle. Pleasant, if not what it could have been.

So, yes, he duly considered staying curled up together. In the end, though, he knew that they had pushed their luck enough for one day. Optimus would soon be returning, and would likely check on him. Best that they not be caught like this. And for the sake of their cover they should also have more solid alibis than a few minutes's dalliance on Jazz's part, which meant getting some work done.

Pressing his forehead briefly against Jazz's in mute apology, he pulled free and rose to pace over to his desk. To his credit Jazz made no real effort to fight him, simply sighing and sitting up with his legs hanging free over the edge of the berth.

"Too short, Sparkles. Slag it all, it's always too slaggin' short."

"I know."

Nevertheless, he reactivated his communications net and checked his message bank - something he had avoided while Jazz was away for fear that he would see something that he felt obliged to act on immediately. To his relief, there were no urgent flags. There were a number of queries about the mess around Wheeljack's lab; it seemed he had managed to tear the doors off it again and the hall was filled with debris. Perceptor had sent him a low priority text to say that Slingshot had covered Wheeljack's shift and that he had put Cliffjumper on two shifts of cleaning out the air ducts as punishment for leaving the monitors unattended. Prime had sent him an appointment for a meeting in his office in two breems time, and...

A knock on the door pulled his focus back to the room and he glanced at Jazz. The other mech was already settling himself on his own recharge berth, safely on the other side of the room. Chances were that whoever it was would not know the difference between one berth and the other, but they had not kept this secret for so long by being sloppy.

"Come." Prowl called, gathering up a couple of datapads.

Smokescreen looked apologetically at each of them.

"Sorry to bother you when you're off-duty..."

"If it's your shift report you can leave it in my office, I'll be back there shortly." Prowl told him.

"Actually it's not a report, just something a bit odd. Do either of you know where Ratchet is?"

Prowl frowned, the duty roster flicking up on his HUD and a part of his system searching through his received texts to check that the CMO had not sent him any information while he had been indisposed.

"He's not in the bay?" Jazz sounded mildly surprised.

"No." Smokescreen confirmed. "And First Aid's getting rattled."

"He won't be far away, he never is." Jazz pointed out.

"That's what I said initially. But I've been in the bay for nearly over a hour now and he hasn't turned up. And I asked around a bit, and no-one's seen him since the first shift briefing."

"I have." Prowl considered. "He called me in to the medbay shortly after that, and he was heading off to talk to Wheeljack. I take it someone has checked with him?"

Smokescreen shook his head.

"I thought about it, but you can't even get into the workshop right now for all the mess from that last explosion. Doesn't look like anyone's hurrying to clean it up either: I called out in case that's where they were, but no-one answered."

Prowl felt his good mood evaporating as his tactical computer strung together the obvious evidence and came up with an answer he did not like. Fact: neither Wheeljack nor Ratchet had been seen or heard from in nearly a joor. Fact: there had been an explosion in Wheeljack's lab at about that time which had been ignored sufficiently by everyone for there to still be rubble blocking the hallway all this time later. Analysis: they had a potentially critical situation here. Looking across at his bondmate, he saw that Jazz had reached the same conclusion.

"Actually, I think maybe I know where Ratchet is after all." the saboteur commented lightly. "Smokey, go back to the repair bay and tell First Aid we'll be in touch."

The door closed and Prowl looked at his mate.

"Surely not. Surely _someone_ would have looked by now?"

Jazz rose, his expression grim.

"Lets go find out."


	3. Discovery

It seemed the explosion had been a particularly forceful one even by Wheeljack's normal standards, with debris strewn out into the corridor and the lab door hanging precariously on one hinge. The lab itself was dark and although Jazz thought he might be able to get the overhead lights going with little trouble, he elected not to take the risk; more than one of Wheeljack's accidents had been exacerbated in the past by adding power to the damage. So instead he used his own headlights as he picked his cautiously into the room.

Earlier there would have been problems seeing through smoke, but the corridor filters here were efficient and now everything was calm and still, if frustratingly covered in soot and a thick layer of dust which obscured what he needed to see. And then his optics caught on something whitish in a far corner of the room.

He paused to adjust his optical settings, able to make out the shapes under the debris; one in the corner, the other over to his left.

~Prowl, they're here.~

~Are they functional?~

~Can't tell yet, but they're not moving. I have to get closer.~

~Prime's arrived. I'm briefing him on what we know.~

~Can ya stall'im?~

~ _Stall_ him? Why would I do that?~

~Jus' gimme as long as ya can. Things could still go boom here, an' we don't need Prime caught up in it.~

He could guess at Prowl's exasperation, but the response came readily.

~That reasoning is unlikely to sway him but I will do what I can. Be quick.~

It was not easy to get across the room. With every step he took unidentified things shifted and ground worryingly against each other, and with this being the inventor's workshop anything could be explosive. As he moved, he scanned and double-scanned with every sensor and system that had kept him alive as an ops agent over the vorns, and by the time he was halfway across the jumbled space he felt relatively confident that nothing was an immediate danger. Which meant he could concentrate more on the two mech he could now see were definitely still here.

Wheeljack was closer, sprawled on the ground and pinned under a heavy girder. He had probably been at his workbench, tinkering with whatever had exploded. Ratchet was in the corner where Wheeljack often took short naps when he could not be bothered going back to his quarters, which suggested he had been in recharge at the time. Jazz could only see part of one of his legs and his arm from the elbow down, everything else obscured by the remains of a generator. Hopefully the rest of him was attached to the parts he could see.

Something slipped under his left pede as he raised his right and he careened forwards ungracefully, making all manner of debris shift and clatter and barely managing to stop his momentum before he fell on top of Wheeljack. Sending a quick reassuring pulse to Prowl whose voice he could now hear a few corridors away, he was relieved to hear a soft groan from the inventor.

"Wheeljack? Can you hear me? You still online, old buddy?"

~Jack's still with us.~ he reported.

~Condition?~

~Not good. Barely online. It'll take a bit of work to get'im out.~

"Ratchet..." Wheeljack groaned. "Is he...?"

"I'll get to'im. Don't worry, we'll get you outta here. What'd you do, Jack, set off a compound blast?"

Wheeljack did not seem to hear, squirming to try to free himself. Jazz began to gently remind him he was stuck, then choked as he saw the sharp edge poking into Wheeljack's side, tearing a bigger hole with every movement.

"Jack! You've gotta stay still, man!"

"Can't... get to him." Wheeljack muttered, seemingly unaware of the pain. "No-one hearing me. Gotta... Ratchet, please... help him, hurry..."

He slumped abruptly, and Jazz thought for a nanoclick that he had deactivated. But no, he was just too low on energy to keep trying.

~Jazz? You've gone quiet. Is Ratchet gone?~

He shook himself.

~Don't know. I was caught up with Wheeljack. I'll check now.~

~Hurry. Prime's getting impatient.~

Stepping carefully over Wheeljack's head, Jazz squeezed past the broken generator and eased a sheet of deck plating out of the way. The medic was trapped under some precariously balanced debris, but he did not seem to be leaking huge amounts of energon anywhere and his frame was mostly undented, even. What he could see of it, anyway, yet if that was the case why had he not gotten himself out of here? Or at least commed for help?

~Jazz, we're coming _now_.~ Prowl warned.

"Jazz!" Prime demanded, drowning out Prowl's warning. "What's the situation?"

Ratchet did not so much as twitch at the sound. Delaying for just a click, Jazz reached forward and brushed one hand against the other mech's leg; the nearest part accessible to him. It was still warm, and most importantly still white under the dust and grime. Thank Primus.

"They're both hangin' on, Prime." he called back. "But Ratchet's offline and Jack's not much better. We gotta get them to the repair bay fast."

* * *

The call was an unusual one, First Aid mused as he hurried down the corridor. All Autobots at the base were required to assemble at the rec room. And they wanted _everyone_ \- injured, on duty, off duty, they were all to go. It made no sense. If it was an attack they would not assemble the injured, and the medical staff would be ordered to the repair bay. If it was a meeting, why the urgency?

Reaching the rec room, he found similar confusion amongst the others and went to join his gestalt-mates. They had no idea either. Huffer and Gears were already laying out the worst possible scenarios - another outbreak of the recent near-fatal infection seemed to be their favoured theory. First Aid hoped they were wrong. From everything he had heard, it had been devastating and it was a miracle no-one had been killed. Sideswipe, though, had a different idea.

"It's a mission." he nodded wisely. "Gotta be. Look - no officers. Not even the gestalt leaders."

First Aid looked around and realised he was right. There was no sign of Hot Spot or Silverbolt or Red Alert, or even Grimlock. That explained where Ratchet had disappeared to, then, he thought with relief. But even as he realised that, Prowl and Perceptor walked in with Ironhide close behind.

"Quiet." the second in command ordered, receiving it instantly. "First Aid - go to Prime's office now. Hoist, Huffer..."

"Prime's been hurt!" someone cried, and others began to clamour.

"Quiet!" Prowl repeated, raising his voice a little. "No, Prime is not injured. You'll get a full briefing shortly. Hoist, Huffer: go with Perceptor. Now is there anyone else here with medical experience? Anything at all. This is important."

First Aid hesitated near the door.

"Sideswipe knows a bit." he put in. "He helped me last week after the battle."

Prowl looked a little surprised, but nodded.

"Sideswipe, you too, then. First Aid, stop delaying. Blaster, Cliffjumper and Smokescreen: go join Red Alert at command..."

He missed the rest of the orders as he left the room and hurried down the hallway. Why did they need medics? Maybe Sideswipe was right and it was a mission after all. If so, the twin was not going to be happy about being stuck back behind the lines to help, but Prowl had wanted to know and it was the truth. First Aid had seen him helping with triage, quipping that he was so often in for repairs that he knew as much as the medics; now it seemed they would find out if that were true. But how? What was going on?

Behind him he could hear mechs beginning to move about in the halls, but then his optics focused on the tall blue form standing just in front of his destination.

"Hot Spot! What's going on? Why...?"

His gestalt leader shook his head, his expression grim.

"Come inside, quickly."

Doing so, he found Optimus Prime pacing impatiently. Hot Spot closed the door, and Prime looked up, his expression grim.

"You're here. Good. How far have you progressed in your studies with Ratchet?"

First Aid was startled by the question and glanced at Hot Spot in confusion.

"Uh, not far yet, sir. There's so much to learn..."

"But you began with a good base of knowledge, correct?" Prime interrupted him.

"Well yes, but..."

"Good." Prime nodded briskly. "You'll have the assistance of every other mech on the base if you need it. Just tell us what you need and it'll happen. We're relying on you to do this, First Aid."

"D-do what, Prime?"

Prime's optics glowed with intensity.

"Save Ratchet and Wheeljack's lives."

* * *

Ironhide watched as First Aid picked his way nervously through the debris. His team had already cleared much of it from the entranceway, but there was plenty more to be done. The problem was, they needed a medic's opinion on how to do it. If they just started pulling at stuff at random, they could make things worse. Out on the battlefield it was a matter of necessity; you had to get the wounded out of the way before the Decepticons finished them off, and if they died in transit then at least they died in friendly arms. This was different, and he would be slagged if he let anyone do anything which would lead to them losing either of these two.

Unfortunately, Ratchet was really the only one they had who could have made the proper assessments here. Wheeljack and Hoist helped out occasionally, and they both knew a fair bit about anatomy, but that did not make them medics. Knowing what circuits a wire connected to did not tell you whether it was safe to cut it without putting the mech offline with pain, or what backups might come into play. That was why medics took so long to train up. Any idiot with a welding iron could tack a patch over a hole, but only a trained healer could encourage the hole to heal over under that patch. First Aid was a good student but he was well out of his depth. Nevertheless he was their best chance.

The Protectobots had arrived at Iacon shortly before the _Ark_ 's departure, brought aboard more for their capabilities as a gestalt than for any other reason. They were very young, having been activated only a century or so before and raised in secret on an isolated moon base, and although First Aid had always been intended to be trained as a medic there had been no-one there to teach him. He had learned from archived datafiles and training tapes, but they had taught pre-war knowledge and when Ratchet had heard he had immediately railed at the uselessness of that knowledge in a time of war.

"I need my tools." First Aid spoke up suddenly.

The box was passed from mech to mech over the rubble, reaching him quickly, and he pulled something out of it then bent down again to do something out of sight.

Back in Iacon, Ratchet had put First Aid under the tutelage of one of his subordinates, Ironhide couldn't remember exactly who, and the Protectobot had basically started his training over. But the _Ark_ 's crash had killed the rest of the medical staff, and so now Ratchet had taken him on himself.

In private, Ratchet had admitted that the young mech was doing very well in his training. The older medic was proud of his achievements, and although he remained cautious it was clear that he thought highly of him. But there was a difference between having pride in a student who was progressing well, and knowing that that student could come through in a crisis, Ironhide fretted. Could First Aid do this? If he couldn't, would it be because it couldn't be done or because he had failed? And would anyone forgive him the failure, whether it was his fault or not?

Whatever happened, someone had to back First Aid, he decided. His gestalt mates would, no doubt, but their opinion wouldn't carry much weight with the older mechs. Someone had to be on First Aid's side, and it might as well be him.

"Okay." First Aid declared, sitting back. "You can move him now. But _gently_."

Ironhide nodded, motioning to his team.

"You got it, kid. Lets get this done."

* * *

Sunstreaker edged around the mechs working to free Wheeljack and crept up behind First Aid who was now kneeling beside Ratchet, running scans.

"Is he going to be okay?"

First Aid jumped, startled, then turned back to his patient.

"I'll do my best."

Sunstreaker frowned, unhappy with the vague answer.

"What's wrong with him, anyway? He doesn't look more than a bit scuffed."

First Aid seemed to consider several answers before settling on a neutral one that told him nothing at all.

"I need to get him back to the repair bay sensors. This hand scanner is limited."

"Sunstreaker." Prowl called. "What are you doing over there?"

Sunstreaker grimaced, knowing he was about to be sent away to where he would find out nothing for joors, but then First Aid surprised him.

"He's helping me move this panel."

Prowl hesitated, and Sunstreaker knew he was about to call the junior medic on his lie. Only, the expected rebuke did not come.

"Do you need any other assistance?"

"A couple of others." First Aid said cautiously. "We need to clear all this away without having it fall on him."

"Or on you." Prowl nodded. "Beachcomber, Hound, Tracks. Help here now. And no complaints about your finish, Tracks. If Sunstreaker can put up with a bit of grit on his panels so can you."

"Move it carefully." First Aid warned them, searching through his tools for something.

Grateful for something to do, though he would never say so aloud, Sunstreaker gripped one side of the metal sheet which had been a bit of wall plating. With the others helping, it was soon being lifted off and away to the side. First Aid was scanning again and Sunstreaker was just tugging gently on another piece of wreckage when the medic suddenly cried out.

"Stop!"

Sunstreaker froze in place, then turned cautiously, afraid of what was happening. First Aid had dropped his scanner and dipped half under the mess that was concealing Ratchet's head and right shoulder. Then he was backing out again.

"I need to get something." he told them, picking his way back to the entrance. "Don't move _anything_ until I get back."

Then he was gone.


	4. Extracting Ratchet

Blades hurried through the accommodation wing hoping no-one would see him and ask where he was going. Looking for First Aid in the room he shared with his gestalt was a last resort because he had run out of ideas of places to look rather than because he actually expected to find him here.

Everything would be a whole lot easier if Red Alert had been present rather than off on a trip to New York, he thought yet again. Or even if the paranoid security director would just let someone else into his security hub in his absence; that way they could have looked at the security footage to figure out where First Aid had disappeared to. But at this point the only way they were going to get in to that room was if Prime or Prowl unlocked that door, and _that_ would only happen if they admitted to the senior officers that First Aid wasn't just off doing something important. Right now neither he nor his brothers were ready to admit to that. They were too new to this crew, and this situation was too serious: they didn't need everyone thinking First Aid was a coward as well as a pacifist.

Slag it all he _knew_ his brother was not a coward. But he had seen the panic in First Aid's visor as the other mech had rushed past him down the corridor. And when he didn't come back after five minutes... ten minutes... twenty... it seemed like he wasn't going to come back at all if someone didn't go after him.

Opening the door he glanced inside not expecting to see anyone at all and yet there was his quarry, huddled on one of the recharge berths. Sending a quick message to Hot Spot, he charged inside.

"Aid! What're you doing? Everyone's waiting for you. Why're you _here_?"

The medic stared up at him, his expression confused.

"Blades? Oh. I... I was just... uh..."

"Why'd you run away? And why've you turned your comm off?" Blades demanded, intending to haul his brother back to the workshop immediately.

First Aid flinched.

"I needed to think."

"Think?"

"He... He told me a medic has to be confident and decisive and know what he's doing. But I don't. I _don't_ , Blades. I don't know what to do. And everyone's expecting me to do this but I don't know how..."

"You have to keep calm." Hot Spot spoke up from the doorway, striding inside. "Panicking won't help."

"First step is getting them both to the repair bay, right?" Blades pointed out. "Then you can figure out how to do the next step."

"That's what I was doing. But I can't. I can't get him out."

"Why not?"

First Aid shuddered.

"There's a bit of debris. A support rod from a shelf, I think, or maybe... Oh it doesn't matter what it _is_ , it's gone straight through his helmet. It _must_ be in his central processor casing. When they started moving the rubble, his systems started to crash. If we move the wrong thing, he'll be gone in clicks. Just like that. But if we don't get him out, then I can't do anything. And even if we get him out without doing any more damage it might already be too late. He could be... it could be... I don't know what to do."

Blades shivered. No wonder First Aid was upset: Ratchet's spark might still be active, but damage to his processor would mean he would never be himself again. Hot Shot, though, did not hesitate.

"You need to move him. We'll do it carefully, and we'll tell everyone how dangerous it is so no-one thinks it's their fault if it goes wrong, and you can take whatever precautions you want, but we need to move him and it's got to be now. If it doesn't work it won't be your fault, but if you do nothing, if you leave him to die there because you didn't act, _everyone_ will blame you. You have to try."

Harsh, but true. And it seemed to get through to First Aid because he raised his head and nodded shakily.

"Okay. You're right. I have to try. Lets go."

* * *

Sideswipe paced agitatedly around the repair bay, wanting to be anywhere but here. Or no, that wasn't quite true. He wanted to be wherever his brother was, and he wanted _that_ to be wherever it _had_ to be so that they could know what was going on.

It had been nearly an hour now since Perceptor had told them what was known: that Ratchet and Wheeljack had been caught in an explosion in the inventor's lab and were seriously injured. Prime was briefing First Aid, and the young medic was going to need every bit of help they could give him so they were to wait here and be ready for surgery. Then Perceptor had taken First Aid's toolkit and left.

Surgery. Slag it all to the pit, he was not a medic. Why had First Aid suggested him? Sure, he knew a little about anatomy, but that was focused on how to take mechs apart not how to keep them functioning. And yes he could crimp a line or weld a seal as well as the next mech, but not well enough to save a life and half the time he blocked off the wrong line or soldered the wrong wires. That was okay out in the field if it kept someone alive long enough for a medic to get to them, but it was completely different in here. This was the domain of the specialists.

What would happen if Ratchet did not make it? he wondered, then shook his head violently to push that thought away. The old slagger had to survive. He was too tough not to. This was all just ridiculous. Any click now Ratchet was going to walk through those doors and rail at them all for clogging up his bay. Maybe with a scratch or dent here and there, and with Wheeljack limping along behind him, moaning about the mess he had made of his workshop and begging Ratchet to come back and help him clean up. Yes, that's how it would be.

"Sideswipe - have you de-ionised your hands yet?" Hoist called from the other side of the room, bringing him out of his fantasy and back to reality.

Hoist and Huffer were both out of their depth here too, he knew, but at least they knew a little bit about medical systems. They had set up two berths, surrounding them with various pieces of arcane equipment, most of which Sideswipe recognised from having been on the receiving end in the past. Reluctantly, he headed over to the small de-ioniser unit and put his hands inside.

"I don't think I'll really need to." he told them. "Aid'll be using you two for sure, I'll just be standing guard on the door or something like normal."

Huffer looked up as though he were about to argue, but suddenly the door burst open and there was chaos. Voices shouted conflicting commands and there seemed to be hundreds of mechs milling about, and a limp body was settled on one of the repair beds. Then Prime was there and his voice cut through all of it.

"Everyone out! Leave them to their work. Hoist, Huffer, Sideswipe - do what you can."

Someone pushed him closer, and the others were leaving, and suddenly he was standing next to the bed staring down at an offline Wheeljack. Hoist and Huffer were already moving, and he tried to back away.

"Maybe I'll just leave you two to it..."

"Crimp that line." Huffer ordered. "He's losing energon and if it's seeping out that slowly he can't have much left to lose."

True. And he could do that. Trying not to wonder what had caused the painfully nasty gash, or the scrapes which suggested some kind of struggle, he grabbed a pair of pliers and prayed to Primus that he would do nothing to make it worse.

* * *

The room was deathly quiet as they waited for First Aid to give the nod so they could begin. The medic had finally returned with an armful of some kind of soft padding which he proceeded to pack around Ratchet's head. Then he had explained the situation.

Bluestreak shivered, relieved he had not been asked to help with the actual excavation. What a responsibility that was, knowing that anything you touched might just kill their CMO. Not that it would be anyone's fault, as such, but still he knew he would have frozen in place.

In the end, most of them had been cleared out of the way for this last stage. Prowl had declared that it should be officers only taking this risk, but a couple of others had managed to argue the case so now Prowl, Ironhide, Jazz, Sunstreaker and Hot Spot were there. Optimus Prime had wanted to help, but was too large for the space they were working in. Sunstreaker was not much smaller, but was utterly determined. That surprised some mechs, but Bluestreak understood: the twins valued their medic.

"Alright." First Aid nodded finally. "Slowly. Try to always lift _up_ and away - that should relieve the pressure. And be ready to stop if I call."

There was a little murmuring and gesturing as Prowl took charge, then Sunstreaker and Hot Spot began with the first piece. They raised it high and held it in place as a shield against other pieces which might fall from above. Then the shorter three began gently clearing away the remainder. Twice First Aid ordered them to stop, and rearranged the packing material. The second time he also did something under Ratchet's left hip panel. Gradually, it all became clearer and Bluestreak realised he could make out the pole that was causing the crisis. It was like a long metal spear, a cylindrical bar no more than a fingerswidth wide.

Fortunately, he could not see Ratchet's head or he thought he may empty his tank at the sight.

"Stop." First Aid called for a third time just as the last large piece was pulled away. "Okay I think we can get him out now. I need a laser cutter."

Someone passed the tool to Bluestreak and he handed it on to Bumblebee who passed it forward and eventually it got to First Aid. The little Protectobot looked at the others around him.

"It's securely attached to the shelf at the top. I need help: someone to hold the bit I'm cutting so it doesn't fall on him, and someone else to hold the rest still."

Bluestreak flinched. If the mechs holding the rod so much as twitched they could do huge amounts of damage. It should have been a tough decision to make, yet Prowl immediately went to his knees.

"Jazz, take the top. Ironhide, back off and give him some room."

The tactician settled himself carefully, checking his balance before putting his hands out and gently grasping the rod. Jazz looked down at him, clearly unhappy at the order, then gave himself a shake.

"Right you are, Prowl m'man. Here we go."

The tension in the room was palpable, and Bluestreak wondered faintly if he could bear it. And then, just as Jazz moved into position, an alarm sounded and an urgent message flashed across their HUDs.

Everyone jumped, startled, then there was a terrible shocked moment when everyone looked to Prowl.

The tactician's hands were still firmly wrapped around the bar. Had he moved it? Was it all over? Someone began to murmur a prayer to Primus and First Aid grabbed belatedly for the scanner.

No-one made a sound as the little handheld device beeped and whirred, then the young medic pronounced his verdict.

"No change."

Prowl carefully prised his fingers free and pulled his hands well away before letting his arms drop to his sides in stunned relief. Jazz moved to give him a brief hug, which the tactician was clearly too shocked to even notice.

"Hands of a surgeon, Sparkles!" he gasped, sounding on the verge of hysterical laughter. "Steady as a Guardian!"

"Enough." Prime interrupted the moment just as everyone started to babble in relief, reminding them of the klaxon. "Prowl, Jazz, Hot Spot, Sunstreaker - stay here and help First Aid. The rest of you assemble outside. You too, Ironhide. Lets roll."

* * *

Prowl willed his body to stop trembling, but the shock was taking its own time to pass. No-one had noticed yet, distracted first by Jazz hugging him and then by Prime's orders.

~You okay?~ Jazz asked.

~I nearly... Jazz, I could've...~

~But you didn't.~ his bondmate interrupted him. ~You could've, but you _didn't_. And for pit's sake, Prowler, Primus himself would've flinched when that alarm went off!~

~Blasphemy.~ Prowl growled, feeling the shock finally starting to wear off a little. ~And for the love of Primus don't call me 'Sparkles' where others can hear!~

~Don't think anyone was payin' attention.~ Jazz considered. ~Never made that slip before. Guess this morning's gotten to me a bit.~

Prowl could accept that; the morning had certainly been an emotionally chaotic one so far. Shaking his hands to loosen joints which seemed unnaturally stiff, he carefully returned his hands to the rod and held it steady. Standing firmly beside him, Jazz muttered something prayer-like and settled his hands much higher up. Prowl felt the rod shift fractionally as Jazz tightened his grip, but then it was still.

"Ready." he called, echoed by his lover.

First Aid still seemed to be a bit stunned by the near miss, but nodded and steadied himself.

"Okay. Whatever happens, no-one move."

Shuttering his optics, Prowl was determined to hold to that. He was not going to ruin this. He was _not_. Ratchet was relying on him, and the medic relied so rarely upon the assistance of others.

The rod trembled a little as the cutter touched it, then he felt a buzzing through the metal and a spatter of molten residue touch his fingers, but he did not move. Then it was done. Opening his optic shutters again, he saw First Aid cut quickly through the rod again above Jazz's hands where it was connected to a larger bit of wreckage leaning against the wall, then the section was completely free and Jazz pulled it away.

"Right." Sunstreaker nodded. "So now we move him?"

"Not yet." First Aid shook his head, turning off the cutter. "You can let go that go now. Uh, I mean, sir..."

"No offence taken." Prowl assured him briskly, carefully pulling away. "What's next?"

"Well, I need to know how far through it goes. If it's caught on anything under him and we move him too fast..."

Hot Spot made a soft noise of protest, but Prowl just nodded, having already calculated the probability of that very scenario.

"Understood. Can we help?"

"I need to do a scan, but if you can finish clearing that other stuff from above him it would help. Then Sunstreaker and Hot Spot could let go. And we need to find something to use as a stretcher."

* * *

Teletran's summation of the situation was simple: the Decepticons had attacked a nearby metal refinery, probably looking for repair materials. This particular factory had very high quality material, mostly working on commission for the Autobots, and was a frequent target. Usually this would be a routine mission, but given the shocks of the day Prime had decided to take with him everyone not already busy. Overkill, yes, but it would keep them occupied when they were brooding; give them something to do when they all felt so helpless; and hopefully give them all enough cover to keep them safe.

Prowl would probably disagree with his tactics of leaving the _Ark_ 's control room completely unattended and the _Ark_ undefended apart from the mechs helping First Aid, but Prime simply did not care. Sometimes morale came first. And besides, he was leaving two of his officers and two of his best frontliners here: they could handle whatever came their way. Without them, he would need all the support he could get out in the field.

Striding outside, he paused to look over his soldiers who were all waiting anxiously for orders. It was so peculiar to be leading a force that did not include the twins or Prowl or Jazz. Of all the soldiers he had led those four rarely missed a conflict, but today they were engaged in a different kind of fight. Moving to the centre of the group, he raised his voice.

"My friends. This is going to be a tough battle. It will be difficult because we cannot afford to receive any injuries here. First Aid needs to focus on our injured friends, and we cannot pull his attention away from that. So. We will do everything we can to push the Decepticons away, but we will not chase them and we will stay in groups. Protect each other. Be aware. Be careful. And come back whole and healthy for Ratchet and Wheeljack's sakes. Autobots: transform and roll out!"


	5. Under control

After such a long time of taking things so slowly, when First Aid finally confirmed that they were ready to move the next part went so fast that it made Sunstreaker's gyros spin. Suddenly they had Ratchet lying prone on a stretcher, and he and Hot Spot were racing down the hallway with him with Jazz running ahead to open the doors and Prowl coming behind carrying First Aid's tools and the medic himself jogging alongside monitoring constantlyand giving instructions.

Bursting into the repair bay they set him down on the nearest berth, then Sunstreaker backed off and looked about for his twin.

"Sides!"

Sideswipe was staring, his hands dripping fluids.

"Sunny! What's going on? We heard the alarm..."

"Never you mind about that." Prowl cut him off. "You're needed here. Sunstreaker, outside on guard duty. Jazz, take over in the control room. Hot Spot, make contact with your team and have Blades report back on which Decepticons are being engaged. First Aid - what else do you need?"

"I'll let you know." the medic replied distractedly, grabbing at wires and machines.

"Good. I'll be just outside with Sunstreaker."

Sunstreaker blinked at him.

"You will?"

Prowl grabbed his arm and pulled him outside then closed the door behind them.

"What ordnance do you have on you?"

"What? Why? And why're _you_ doing sentry duty?"

Prowl settled himself, checking the barrel of one of his guns.

"Prime took everyone with him except for the ones he usually _would_ take with him - you two, me, Jazz, Wheeljack. Worse, he's taken _everyone_ , including an incomplete Protectobot team, and that will be a sure sign that something is wrong: that lot usually stay together, so if one is back here then they all are. Which will almost definitely lead to someone noticing that none of our medics are in the field. And if Megatron figures that out and realises we've got wounded here, he'll send someone straight for this repair bay. We've come this far, we're not going to lose them now for lack of security. So. Go to the storeroom and stock up, then be ready to shoot first and ask questions later. I'm going to set up the auto-defence grid, then I'll be back."

* * *

Sideswipe turned away from the closing door, then shuddered as he caught a glimpse of the metal bar that pierced Ratchet's head. He made himself look down at Wheeljack and continue trying to sort the tangle of wires in the inventor's torn side, but his attention remained on First Aid and Ratchet. Huffer and Hoist seemed distracted too, he noticed, and Perceptor - who had returned after the battle alert with absolutely no news - had gone completely still, his expression horrified.

"Sideswipe!" First Aid called, making him jump.

"Me? Why me? I'm not a medic! I can't..."

The words bubbled out of him before he could even think, and he turned to see frustration and worry flash across the Protectobot's face.

"I _know_ you're not a medic. That's why I need _you_. I need someone to watch the outputs on this monitor while I sort Wheeljack out."

"Wheeljack? But shouldn't you work on Ratchet first?"

First Aid shook his head.

"He's stable in stasis. Wheeljack isn't and I'll need his help with Ratchet. Now look - you need to watch here, here and here, and this input here. If any of these move more than a few points, or if this one spikes, yell. Hoist, get me two cubes of boron-based low grade. Huffer, we need to flush his system to get the contaminants out - see if you can find one of the high pressure valves, I don't know where Ratchet keeps them. Perceptor, you'll help me with the... Perceptor?"

Sideswipe looked up and realised that Perceptor was backing away.

"I... I should... check if P-Prime needs me..." the scientist stuttered.

"What?" First Aid asked blankly. "Prime's heading out to a battle, why would he need you?"

Huffer was not so slow on the uptake and reached up to clip the other mech across the back of the head.

"Get your gears in train." he growled. "We've got work to do."

But Perceptor was having none of it, shaking his head violently and stumbling back towards the door.

"I've got to go. I've got... stuff... to do..."

"Stuff?" Sideswipe echoed. "Is that a new technical term? Don't be a coward - come back and help or I'll..."

"No." First Aid interrupted. "No, leave him. Perceptor - if you can't do this then go away, maybe Prowl can use you for something but I don't have time for this. Sideswipe, you watch that monitor. Don't take your optics off it for a click."

Sideswipe swung back to the monitor, chastened but also reassured. First Aid was a novice, but he sounded like knew what he was doing and he was not tolerating any nonsense. Just like Ratchet, really. Sneaking a hand out, he gave Ratchet's wrist a gentle squeeze of comfort. It was going to be alright.

* * *

Jazz stood in front of Teletran-1's main monitor bank, trying to fight the urge to run from the room to demand an update from First Aid, or to join the others at the power station, or to hide in his quarters and scream out his frustrations. Hot Spot's presence at one of the terminals was both a help and a hindrance: holding him in place and forcing him to concentrate on his duty as an officer.

Numbly running another perimeter scan, he reminded himself that this hardly rated a mention in his list of worst times. There had been situations undercover when he had watched friends die in the most hideous ways and had had to pretend to enjoy the show. Times when he had had to continue doing some mundane task when he had to maintain a particular cover even though he knew his absence from another situation would cost lives. Even the very occasional nightmarish day where he had had to play the part of the torturer or executioner for mecha he knew and cared for rather than blow his cover. That had been worse than this, surely?

It was the emotional connection that made this so difficult, he decided, trying to analyse the cause dispassionately. That, and the fact that there really was no mission to complete, no cover to maintain, no overriding need to ignore his own desires in favour of a higher cause. When he had to do awful things, or endure what others would consider the unendurable, he could separate himself from the events by recalling his purpose. How many times had he been able to pull through the worst missions with his psyche intact because he knew Prowl was waiting for him, would still accept him, would still love him no matter what had happened? How many times had that thought sustained him when others would have given in to despair?

Irritable at his wandering thoughts which were no longer even making sense to _him_ , he paced to a different terminal and plugged in to the sensor net and ran a diagnostic. Twice. Slag it all, he needed a mission. He needed to be _doing_ something. Even doing nothing at all, so long as there was an active purpose in it. This monitoring of Teletran's systems was too passive to keep him occupied, and Prowl should know that better than anyone. Why did he need to be here when Hot Spot was already here anyway? What was the point? No-one was going to call in during the fight, not when everyone else was out there, and while he understood the need to have someone monitoring the defences why did it have to be him? Why not Sunstreaker? Or Prowl himself?

"I can't get through to Blades." Hot Spot announced abruptly, rising. "Soundwave must be jamming the signals. I should head out there."

"To do what?" Jazz asked, easily concealing his own inner turmoil now that he had a distraction. "Prime's got nearly every 'bot we got on the planet out there. Ain't nothin' more y'can do. 'Sides, by the time y'get out there, it'll be all over."

Hot Spot scowled.

"My team's out there. Whether they need me or not, that's where I should be."

He strode out and Jazz sighed to himself, flopping dramatically - just because there was no audience was no reason to forget to do it with style - into a nearby chair. Gestalts and their irrational need to be _together_. Worse than bondmates, and he should know.

The thought made him think of his own situation, and he sighed again, thinking back over the events of the day.

Coming off-shift to find Prowl in their quarters had been entirely unexpected, and he had wasted several clicks confirming that he had not mis-read the day's schedule before deciding that he did not care why it had happened and locking the door. It had been a long, long time since they had last had any quality time together. Prowl would probably know precisely how long but Jazz chose not to measure it because it made it hurt more. Since before they had been on Earth, anyway, and that made it more than long enough.

He crossed his arms, staring at the screen but not really taking in the information that scrolled across it. He had wanted so much in that moment, and for once he could have it. And Prowl had picked up on that desire and opened the long-silent bond just enough that Jazz could be sure the feeling was mutual. And then, right in the middle of that euphoria, Prime had dropped him back into painful reality.

He shuttered his optics for a moment, trying not to shiver as he remembered the feel of Blaster's hands on his already charged body, Blaster's energy merging with his when his spark had been anticipating Prowl's. Bad enough to play that role under normal circumstances, when he had prepared himself and was ready to act the part; unexpectedly jarring when the situation was wrong.

Only the other trained spies in the unit knew that sparksharing enjoyment could be faked - everyone else subscribed to the firm belief that it was not possible to bring oneself to that level of intimacy without a true emotional connection - but he had even his own staff fooled. Today, though, had been different.

He rose to pace agitatedly, barely aware that he was doing it. Today he had not been prepared. Today his systems had already been cycling in anticipation of something it had been denied for a pit of a long time and it was not interested in his attempts at reining it in. He had planned to get Blaster charged up a little, then cut it off before it went too far. Instead, the comms mech had touched him just where Prowl's fingers had been a few minutes earlier, and the overload had happened before he knew it. The shock that he had just given Blaster a taste of his true passion had nearly ruined the whole plan and he had almost fled in horror, but his training held out. There was a mission to complete; he needed an alibi, and this had to be it.

Going back to Prowl after that had been difficult. He wanted to spend a few hours in the wash racks until the feel of the water on his frame made him forget the feel of Blaster's touch. He wanted to run and hide from everyone until he could forget what he had done. Instead, he had walked back to their quarters, even exchanging some meaningless banter with Windcharger on the way. But on his arrival, it had been more than he could do to look at his lover, let alone touch him. The thought of Prowl touching him when his circuits were still arcing with Blaster's spark energy just made him feel sick. And dissembling would not work either: Prowl could always see straight through his lies, even without using their bond.

It had only been when he was sure that the overload had completely passed, only when he was sure that the excess energy had completely dissipated, that he had finally relented and gone looking for comfort. Comfort that he did not deserve, yet was always given unstintingly when he asked.

How did Prowl do it, he wondered bleakly. How did he remain so faithful, knowing that Jazz was constantly being entirely _un_ faithful? How did he ignore that everywhere he touched, had been touched by others? How did he cope with knowing that half the _Ark_ had had his bondmate? Jazz knew without a doubt that he had the easier of the two roles. He was not sure he would be able to maintain their cover if he found out someone else had been sparksharing with Prowl. Unfair and completely hypocritical, he knew, but he had his limits. He admired Prowl's ability to constantly tolerate the intolerable, but he knew he could never emulate it.

Primus forbid they ever had to go that way to keep their secret or he thought he might do something rash.

A beeping made him refocus, and he turned to check what was affecting the sensor. Then took a slow step back before turning on his heel beginning to run.

Unsurprisingly, his mate had been right to worry, and now there was no more time for thinking, it was time for action.

~Prowl! We've got incoming!~


	6. Fighting on all fronts

First Aid forced himself to focus on the work at hand, yet he was sure they could all see his nervousness. Every time one of them moved or looked at him or paused in their task he waited for them to accuse him of being out of order, of trying to wield authority he had not earned, of pretending to know what he was doing when he did not. When he realised Perceptor was falling into shock he ordered the other mech out, unable to bear the arguments: the more he talked, the more he was sure his vocaliser was going to give him away. He did not want to talk so Perceptor had to go and Sideswipe had to shut up. How did Ratchet keep talking under this kind of stress? All _he_ wanted to do was turn off all his systems and hide in a corner.

The first step had been accomplished, and for that he thanked Primus fervently. Somehow, miraculously, he had gotten them back to the repair bay. But now that they were here, the damage seemed even worse than before. Here, under the bright lights and with proper sensors hooked up, he could see exactly how bad it was and he wished he was back with the comparatively simple task of extricating them again. At least then he did not have constant feeds coming up on his HUD reporting how low Wheeljack's energon pressure was, or how Ratchet's CPU impulses had dropped into the red.

Calm, he told himself, grabbing a fusion board and rerouting some wires through it. He had to stay calm. Ratchet was safe in stasis lock for now. His systems would be maintained at their minimum levels, his CPU safely offline. There was no pain in that state, even without blockers in place. Wheeljack, on the other hand, was a completely different case. The inventor had initially taken damage from the blast itself and then from the debris, but he had exacerbated it all by trying to get to Ratchet. Pinched wires had been ground together until they snapped and shorted; fuses had blown; joints had been crushed and fluid lines burst. On top of that, there was the nasty tear in his side where he had continued to tug forward in spite of what must have been terrible pain. Clotted coolant was caked around there; probably the only thing that had saved him since it had started clotting and had all but sealed the breach in his energon line. It would have done it far more efficiently if he had not kept moving.

Briefly he wondered why Wheeljack had done that. Sure he would have known Ratchet was under there, but even so he should have been focusing on getting the attention of others, not dragging himself over to the medic. Unable to understand it and unable to devote any processing time to it, he focused on what he knew. At some point he would have to access the databanks to find out about the finer points of Wheeljack's anatomy, but for now he just needed to stop the fluid and energy loss, and keep power flowing to the failing circuits. That was the same for any mech.

* * *

Silverbolt tilted one wing to veer around a small patch of turbulence, then twisted sharply the other way to avoid a stray missile. He had not been with the Autobots for long, but even he could feel the difference in this fight from the normal pattern and he knew it had their opponents baffled.

Smokescreen filled the air with black grit that affected the radar as well as the optics, and Hound cast disorienting holograms, both helping to conceal the long, straggling line of bots releasing wave after wave of laser bolts. Meanwhile his team and the other aerials were doing their part up above, trying to keep the airborne Decepticons distracted.

Seeing Dirge ascend rapidly to his right, he pulsed a text message to Air Raid and Slingshot, and saw them veer off accordingly. Powerglide was right behind them with Swoop, and he smiled. There was one Seeker he no longer had to worry about. Firing a couple of rounds at Rumble before the Cassetticon could sneak up on Cliffjumper, he dropped his altitude to glide alongside Blades.

~Any sign of him?~

~Not yet. You?~

~No. Someone should tell Prime.~

~Good luck with that.~ the Protectobot snorted cynically. ~I can't even _see_ Blaster, and that lot are shooting at anything that comes near because they can't see us either.~

Silverbolt frowned.

~Keep looking. Megatron's here, the cassettes are here, so Soundwave _must_ be too.~

Blades seemed unconvinced, but peeled away to circle the conflict zone again and Silverbolt headed off on the opposing angle.

The absences on the Decepticon side were disturbing. The Constructicons were missing, but that was not unusual; they didn't end up in the field all that often. But where was Soundwave? And where was Starscream and his trine?

The problem was there was no way to get that information back to Prime, since he was currently wrestling with Megatron, and since Prowl and Jazz were both absent there was no actual co-ordination for anyone else. True, he still had command of his own team, and Streetwise, Groove and Blades were working under his direction in Hot Spot's absence, but the others had split off into their own little factions. He considered trying to get to Ironhide, but the old soldier was in the thick of the smoke. Besides, he had only a low-powered comm system and would not be able to override the chatter that already filled the airwaves.

Frustrated, he circled back behind the Autobot lines. A couple of mechs were back there with mild injuries. Nothing serious that he could see, but still it was a concern given their current situation. How did the Decepticons manage without a proper medic? It was something he had wondered many times, but now the question gnawed at him with fresh urgency. The older Autobots always maintained that none of the Decepticons were trained medics, even though it seemed that they were always repaired by the next battle. Did they have a medic hidden away somewhere that the Autobots did not know about? Or some other way of repairing serious damage?

~Bolt!~ Fireflight called. ~Laserbeak is leaving the battle and heading towards the _Ark_.~

~Stop him.~

~I can't - Ramjet's on my tail.~

~Fine, I'll do it.~ Opening his comm up to all his gestalt-mates, he added. ~I'm heading back to the _Ark_. Join me as soon as you can. Skydive - find Blades and tell him I want the Protectobots to follow us. If this is a diversion for an attack back at the _Ark_ we're going to need them. Air Raid, tell Powerglide to get the message back to the Autobots, whatever it takes.~

* * *

Sunstreaker glanced at the mech to his right, then settled the large-barrelled weapon a bit more squarely on his shoulder.

"You think he ever gets tired of being right about this kind of thing?" he asked, lining up his shot.

Jazz, predictably, laughed.

"Aw come on, where's your sense of adventure? I thought you liked taking on impossible odds? This'll be fun!"

The mech was completely and utterly mad, Sunstreaker decided, fully aware that many others thought precisely the same of him.

"Fun?" he echoed caustically. "The three of us against Devastator? Yeah, some fun alright. Where the frag did Hot Spot go? Couldn't we at least get Sides out here to help? We'll need him..."

"No." Prowl cut him off, returning and taking up a position beyond Jazz. "Devastator is too large to get inside without breaking apart, and if we all fall then he will be the best chance they have."

The best chance they have to... what, he thought in frustration. Escape? To where? Not that they were likely to try: no medic he had ever met would abandon his patients and Ratchet and Wheeljack were in no condition to be moved or it would already be done. He had suggested it, but Prowl had said he had already considered that and it was not practical.

"As for Hot Spot," Prowl continued with a dark look at Jazz, "since he left prior to the alert we must assume that he did not realise he would be needed here. I shall be speaking to him later about that assumption."

That made Sunstreaker smirk, imagining that 'talk', but the humour did not last. They were in trouble.

"This isn't going to work." he muttered.

"Have some faith." Jazz shrugged, fiddling with the explosives he had produced on Prowl's request.

Just where did Jazz hide all this stuff, Sunstreaker wondered irritably. It sometimes seemed like he had a whole demolitions lab hidden in his subspace pocket. Wheeljack could make things blow up spectacularly entirely without any such intention, but Jazz did it quite deliberately and always seemed prepared for the next one.

"He's a slagging _gestalt_." Sunstreaker complained.

"Never stopped you before. Prowl - you remember that thing I asked for?"

If it had been anyone else, the question would probably have been valid. Prowl, though, was _Prowl_ , and the very idea that he might forget to do something he set out to do was even more ridiculous than the idea that Prime might get drunk and join Sideswipe on one of his pranks. At least that had happened _once_ in all the vorns they had been in the unit.

"Should I ask why it was in Bumblebee's quarters?" the tactician asked, handing over a small box that looked like a handheld diagnostic scanner.

Jazz grinned, taking it and adjusting some of the settings.

"The mechlet's curious. He's gotta pick a specialty sometime, right?"

"He _has_ a specialty." Prowl responded, annoyed. "He's a scout."

"Yup." Jazz agreed, setting the device carefully on the ground and activating it. "Good one, too."

It gave off a quiet humming, but seemed to do nothing more than that which was a profound disappointment. Maybe he had not activated it yet? Sunstreaker half expected the verbal sniping to continue - everyone knew Jazz and Prowl had little patience for each other's methods - but instead Prowl's head snapped around.

"Here they come. Be ready. Remember, Sunstreaker - aim for the right shoulder joint."

"I got it already."

"Alright." Jazz nodded, positioning himself ready to throw one of his grenades. "Ready in three, two, one, _go_."

* * *

The tremor that ran through the _Ark_ was nearly enough to knock them all off their feet, and Sideswipe grabbed for Ratchet before he could fall off the repair bed. This was insane. He should be out there, not in here. He needed to be with his twin; who would watch his back if Sunny got hurt? And just who were they fighting?

Prowl had stopped in half a breem ago to say that some of the Decepticons were on their way and that he and Jazz and Sunstreaker would hold them off. Sideswipe had tried to go with him, but Prowl had insisted that he remain in the repair bay as a final line of defence in case it went badly. He had sounded calm enough about the situation, but that was just Prowl. It could be anything from Laserbeak to the entire Decepticon army and he would sound precisely the same and probably give exactly the same orders.

Turning to tell First Aid that perhaps he should go and investigate, his optics passed over the monitor he had been set to watch. Up until now there had been almost no movement. A little minor fluctuation in one of the readouts, but nothing outside of the parameters First Aid had set. Now, though, two of the sensors were registering major changes.

"Hey Aid..."

"Not now!" the medic snapped. "Hoist, I need a power pack spliced in here."

"This is important!" Sideswipe insisted, grabbing the medic's arm and pulling him back to the monitor.

First Aid stared at it for a moment, going horribly still, then looked back at Hoist and Huffer.

"Keep him stable. Sideswipe, come stand right here."

"What...?"

It was First Aid's turn to drag him into place, moving him up to the end of the bed by Ratchet's head, right beside where the metal rod was sticking out.

"We've got to get that out of there." First Aid was saying. "I need you to hold his head still."

"But...!"

"I don't have time to argue with you! We have to do this _right now_."

Biting back the protests he wanted to make, he gingerly put his hands on either side of Ratchet's helmet. First Aid grabbed at a couple of tools and put them down in the space by Ratchet's shoulder, then picked up a laser scalpel.

"I'm going to have to cut away some of his plating to get at it." he warned. "This is going to get gory so look away if you have to but _don't move_."

Sideswipe did not need to be told twice. Closing the shutters firmly over his optics, he just prayed to Primus that there would not be another tremor.

* * *

Megatron seemed strangely distracted today, Prime noted as he got in yet another punch that his opponent would normally have blocked. Equally odd was that he had not tried to disengage. The Decepticon leader frequently ended their skirmishes after less than a breem - either through gaining the upper hand or by retreating - yet it had been four already and there was no sign of any change. It seemed like he was waiting for something specific to happen. But what?

Perhaps it had been wrong to leave Prowl back at the _Ark_. If he had thought to bring him there would be better communications and greater cohesion. Instead, he was isolated in the middle of the chaos with no idea how the battle was going other than the knowledge that he himself was in something of a stalemate.

It was possible that he had the strength and skill to beat Megatron, though they were very evenly matched. Usually there was little chance to find out, since Megatron regularly managed to avoid one-on-one attacks entirely, or quickly dragged in one of his soldiers to take his place. Today, though, the problem was different. While he probably _could_ do some significant damage to his opponent, it would only be by opening himself up to similar damage. And with Ratchet out of commission, and First Aid already well out of his depth, this was not the best time to need urgent repairs. The last thing the Autobots needed was to lose their leader and their CMO in the same orn.

There was something very wrong here, though, and he was having trouble pinpointing it. Slag it, he had gotten too reliant on Prowl to do this for him. His tactician was very skilled, but he had only been in place for a megavorn or so and before that Optimus had had to think for himself so he should not have gotten so badly out of practice so quickly. Of course, though no-one ever seemed to acknowledge it, it was only since Prowl had been in that role that they had stopped losing so many lives and started gaining a bit of a foothold in this war.

No transformations! he realised finally. That was what was so odd. Megatron would usually have transformed into his gun mode by now, to be wielded expertly by either Soundwave or Starscream, and... Wait. Where were Soundwave and Starscream? Megatron sometimes only brought one of them to a battle, but he was never bereft of both. Which meant this was a diversion! And he had played into Megatron's hands more completely than the Decepticon could ever have hoped - he had brought _everyone_ with him.

Desperate now, he tried to pull away, and Megatron laughed, taunting him.

"Finally worked it out, have you Prime?" he sneered. "But too late. Oh yes, too late."

No.

"Autobots!" he bellowed. "Return to defend the _Ark_!"

Megatron laughed again.

"Leave, Prime, and we'll take what we need from here."

"Hardly, Megatron." he responded drily, bluffing a little but hoping he was right. "Your troops here will barely manage to carry themselves back to base - they won't be carrying cargo."

The annoyed look on Megatron's face told him he was close enough to the mark. And so he should be, given all the support he had here. Yanking himself free, Optimus turned and retreated to where several of his soldiers were maintaining a steady stream of fire. With him out of the way, they now focused on Megatron who spat some very nasty curses in Cybertronian then called the usual Decepticon retreat. There was no time to celebrate, though. His comm was not connecting with anyone he knew to be at the _Ark_ which meant someone was doing some signal jamming.

"Autobots! Transform and roll out!"

He only hoped they were in time.


	7. Battle at the <em>Ark</em>

Prowl did not like to analyse a plan's effectiveness until a battle was over, but this one had started auspiciously and their tiny force of defenders were doing considerably better than they had any right to be.

Sunstreaker's shot with the magnetic pulse cannon had disrupted the connection between Scrapper and Long Haul, and Devastator had fallen apart - a real shame that that took so long to reload, but they all knew its limits. As soon as the pulse hit, Jazz had launched a barrage of concussion grenades which had fritzed many of the Constructicons' systems and sent them crashing to the ground in an ungainly heap. Then, before they could regroup, Prowl had deployed smoke bombs to obscure the battle zone which meant the Constructicons could not see their foes, and the sensor disruptor Jazz had set up had kept anyone from scanning anything so the enemy had no idea how thinly the Autobot forces were spread. The disruptor was an undeniable blessing, but Prowl still intended to follow up on why Bumblebee of all mechs had had it in his possession and what exactly he had been doing with it. Later. If, indeed, there was a later.

The problem was that it was six against three. Worse, it was six very angry Decepticons who did not care if they got damaged against three very desperate Autobots who could not afford to take more than minimal injuries. Still, they were far from beaten. If Prowl had to be left with anyone in this dire situation of mech-on-mech, Sunstreaker would always have been a good choice choice. And there was one more line of defence: if it came down to it, Jazz could blow up the entire mountain side, burying the _Ark_ 's exposed areas and thus buying the medics more time for reinforcements to arrive.

Given the likelihood that they may have to resort to those tactics, he had ordered Jazz to stay by the _Ark_ 's entrance, which left only him and Sunstreaker playing a very dangerous game of hit and run in the smoke.

One factor in their favour, he considered as he fired a shot towards an identifiable noise, was that the Constructicons seemed to feel the need to keep up a running commentary of curses at their predicament. That meant that he could confidently target them without needing to see them. A short yell told him that his shot had hit its mark and pounding steps gave chase, but he was already on the move; there was no point staying where he might be found. Further away, he heard a growl that he recognised as Sunstreaker just before a loud crash. Avoiding the area so not to get caught up in it, he moved on towards another voice.

"Long Haul! We've got to regroup!"

Moving closer, he waited until he could make out a form in the smoke, then shot. Then jogged quietly off on an angle and modulated his vocaliser.

"Long Haul!"

He dared not say too much, but it should be enough just to call random names. After all, they would not expect their enemies to call to them. Hopefully. To be fair, the Constructicons _were_ smarter than most of the Decepticons.

As he moved, he realised that he was beginning to see further. The smoke was starting to thin; his cover would be gone soon so he needed to act fast. Moving to a new location, he called out again.

"Long Haul!"

"Hook?" a querying response came from nearby.

"Over here!" the real Hook called grumpily.

Prowl smirked and raised his gun. But before he could shoot, a tall form launched out of the greyness and attacked the Combaticon in front of him. Backing hurriedly away, Prowl began looking for some cover. Finding a small depression, he oriented himself and found that he was at the eastern end of the third defensive trench outside the _Ark_. Yet two steps in, he realised he was not alone. He started to raise his gun again, then dropped it again quickly as he recognised the other who was also startled.

"Prowl?"

"Sunstreaker." He gestured to the rifle aimed at him. "If you don't mind?"

This was a concern, though. If Sunstreaker was here, then who had that been up there? It hadn't been Jazz; of that much he could be certain.

Wishing he were a little taller, he turned to Sunstreaker.

"Someone else is up there. Can you identify? Is it Sideswipe?"

Sunstreaker looked startled, then scowled.

"It'd better slagging well not be."

"Aerialbots!" one of the Constructicons cried suddenly. "Quick - form Devastator again!"

"Oh slag." Sunstreaker muttered.

Prowl felt much the same, but just checked his remaining ordnance.

"We must keep them out of the _Ark_. Understood?"

Sunstreaker nodded and began checking his own inventory, and Prowl steadied himself. All going badly, this could well be his last fight, but he was not going to be taken down easily.

"Very well. No stopping until they are gone."

* * *

~Sides!~

Sideswipe jumped a little at the totally unexpected ping, glanced down guiltily to check that he had not mucked anything up, then looked away again with a grimace as his optics took in a completely exposed CPU with all colours of fluids in varying states of liquidity smeared over the circuitry and a growing hole where First Aid was carefully cutting away struts and supports to get at the damaged area from an oblique angle. It wasn't a pretty sight, and he looked away quickly again. He wasn't usually squeamish, but it was different when he was trying to kill someone; knowing that this was the inside of a friend's head made things very different.

~Sideswipe?~ the call repeated urgently.

~Sunny. What's wrong?~

~Tell me you're still in the bay.~

~Yeah, I am. Why? You need me? I'll come...~

~No. Nothing. Thought you were out here trying to get your aft shot off.~

~What's going on out there?~

~Nothing. Just some Cons. We've got it under control. Stay inside, okay? Bad enough I'm getting _my_ paintjob dirty.~

Then the connection was gone, blocked off at Sunstreaker's end as completely as it had been before. Frustrated, Sideswipe looked over at First Aid, very careful not to look down.

"Uh, do you think...?" he began.

"Don't move."

"I know but maybe someone else could take over and I could go check what's happening...?"

"Prowl told you to stay here. Now please stop talking to me, I need to concentrate."

Sideswipe gave in. Nothing he said was going to change anything anyway, and he did not want to distract First Aid into making a mistake that might hurt Ratchet. Promising himself that he would get a full explanation from Sunstreaker the minute he got free from this room, he was about to shutter his optics again when Ratchet's body spasmed, nearly jerking out of his grip entirely.

"What the...?"

First Aid had pulled away quickly and was now grabbing something out of a drawer.

"Hold him still! Hoist - give us a hand, hold his legs down."

"What's going on?" Sideswipe demanded.

"It's reflexive movement." First Aid assured him. "He doesn't know what he's doing."

Sideswipe stared at him, horrified. It had never occurred to him that Ratchet might be _aware_ of what they were doing to him. Casting about himself, he suddenly realised that there were no sensory blockers attached to the CMO. There were four on Wheeljack, plus a tube of that purple stuff he recognised from prior injuries he had suffered himself. It flowed straight into the energon line and dampened your sensors when you were in severe pain, but there was no similar line set up for Ratchet. He started to tremble. First Aid was doing open CPU surgery _without_ pain control?

"Hold _still_ , Sideswipe!" First Aid snapped, hands busy doing... something... with a pair of pliers and a small diversion circuit. "It's gone into the section that controls reflexes, but every time he moves it could do more damage and you moving about like that isn't helping."

"He... he's not... can he _feel_ this?" he stammered.

First Aid's absentminded denial was a profound relief.

"No, he's in stasis lock. This is just reflex and... ah. Got it."

Ratchet suddenly went still, and First Aid tightened the connections to the circuitry then set the pliers aside.

"Now keep him completely still, I'm going to try to remove the bar. I've relieved enough pressure that it should come out without pulling anything with it, but we may still have to do this in stages."

Please, Sideswipe prayed as another tremor went through the ship. Please, Primus, see us all through this.

* * *

Standing in Devastator's shadow, Jazz stared up at the two gestalts who were wrestling nearby. It was not a position he would have chosen, but there were never any good positions during a gestalt tussle; either could be thrown or fall or stumble at any moment, and the damage could occur in any direction. Long and bitter experience of lost comades told him there was no point moving about. Besides, someone had to guard the _Ark_ 's entrance in case there were other Decepticons about who might use this distraction to slip inside.

A figure approached from his right and his hands tensed on the rifle then relaxed again. It was just Prowl. That was the problem with the signal jammer: there was no way to immediately identify friend from foe, you had to double-check your targets. Of course, no amount of jamming could make him mistake his bondmate for anyone else, but they had not kept their secret for this long by being careless, so he held his pose a few clicks longer even though he was fairly sure there was no-one else nearby. Only when Prowl had growled out his identification and stepped into view did he lower the weapon and nod towards the battle zone.

"Looks like th'cavalry arrived just in time."

Prowl stopped beside him, frowning as the gestalts tore at each other and staggered slightly further away.

"They were not expecting to find us such an easy target." he muttered worriedly.

Jazz looked at the other mech incredulously.

"You think this was easy!"

"We have held our own, but if they had sent Ravage or Frenzy along with Devastator, or if they had made a full-on offensive attack as soon as they were separated, we would be in a great deal more trouble. This attack was not intended to succeed, only to distract. It is merely their good fortune that we are under-strength here."

They both flinched slightly as a stray blast from Devastator's cannon hit the dirt not too far from where they were standing, but they held their ground.

"Well sure. But we know that already, they're attacking the factory. This is a diversion from that."

"No. Devastator turned up far too late for that, and would not have been a significantly large threat to prevent a force going to the factory even if he had arrived before we got that report."

"Then doesn't that mean that this _is_ the main target?" Jazz frowned, completely confused now.

"Logic would dictate that they cannot know about our current situation, so there is no reason for them to believe we would leave the _Ark_ undefended. And indeed, if they did know our situation it is likely they would have sent a larger force to ensure their victory here. Thus this is not the major objective. Therefore, it seems likely that there is a third target of which we are currently unaware."

"Three simultaneous attacks?" Jazz asked dubiously. "Not really Meg-head's style. You don't think...?"

He cut himself off, swinging up his rifle and aiming at the two figures approaching through the smoke.

"Identify!"

"Hot Spot and Sunstreaker." the response came immediately.

He recognised the voice, but kept his rifle aimed until they were both clearly visible.

"Any sign of my team yet?" Hot Spot asked

"Should there be?" Prowl asked.

"Silverbolt told me he'd called them to follow, but of course his team moves faster. They should be here soon, though."

Prowl considered that, then turned to Jazz.

"Give your rifle to Sunstreaker and go back to the command room. See if there is any contact yet, or any data on the third target. Hot Spot, I want details on all the comm chatter you picked up; I need to know what's happening."

"Third target?" Sunstreaker asked, curious.

Jazz just sighed and handed him the rifle. Comm duty. Slag, but he _hated_ comm duty.


	8. Waiting for news

In the end it was all fairly anti-climactic, Mirage mused as he settled himself in his usual corner of the rec room.

At the power plant they had done enough damage to the Decepticons to make their retreat inevitable, though little more since they were sticking mostly to laser rifle fire. A laser hit could sting, but it took repeated hits to do any significant damage and in truth, if there hadn't been so _much_ laser fire the Decepticons would probably have laughed it off and ignored them altogether. It was an old tactic, one that hadn't really been used in centuries, and maybe that was why it had worked so well: the Decepticons had gotten so nonchalant about laser hits that it actually caught them by surprise when the concentration did some damage.

So things had been going surprisingly well, with the enemy right on the brink of pulling out, when Prime had started bellowing that they needed to get back to the _Ark_ , that the base was under attack. Ironhide had kept a small group back to continue the fight until the Decepticons actually left, while everyone else had followed Prime to race back to the _Ark_ , hoping against hope that they would arrive in time and wondering anxiously how the Decepticons had known they were so vulnerable on this particular day.

As they travelled, word came back that the Constructicons were there, and perhaps Soundwave and Starscream too. That wasn't good news at all and they were certain that they would get back to find only corpses. Instead they had arrived to find the battle over, and while the Aerialbots were there and had seen Devastator off, they claimed that the victory really belonged to Sunstreaker, Jazz and Prowl. Sunstreaker was certainly happy to take the credit and talk about what had happened, but the two officers were another matter: neither was talking about what had happened, they were too busy shouting at each other over the existence - or not - of a third Decepticon target.

Mirage swirled his energon in its beaker, staring into the liquid thoughtfully. He had worked with Jazz for a long time, much longer than Prowl had been with them, so when he said he could find no evidence of the Decepticons attacking any other target, Mirage believed him. Prowl did not. The argument had gotten quite nasty before Prime had stepped in and separated them, ordering Prowl back to his quarters to rest and putting Jazz on duty organising a diversion for the troops. Jazz being Jazz, the diversion ended up being an impromptu party in the rec room.

It was a comparatively quiet party, given the two successful sorties of the day, but then everyone was still waiting on news from the repair bay. First Aid and his mismatched bunch of assistants had been shut away in there for hours - more than half a day, now - and there had been no communication with them. None that he knew of, anyway. On one hand that was probably a good thing, since there would be little to do if the patients had not survived. On the other hand, it spoke volumes about how serious the injuries were, and how inexperienced the medics.

He frowned. Ratchet deserved better. Yet this was the best they could do. This was exactly why Prowl had wanted the CMO to take an apprentice sooner. It was true that First Aid had come complete with a background that made him more suitable than others, but he lacked access to Ratchet's personal files and that put him at a disadvantage.

Mirage frowned at the thought. First Aid did not have clearance to open those files but they would help him fix Wheeljack at least; having Ratchet's personal notes alongside the general files would make a huge difference, particularly given the number of times Ratchet had rebuilt the inventor. And Wheeljack was the most experienced of the non-medics: once he was repaired, he could help with Ratchet.

Flicking on his inverter, he slipped out of the room. Teletran-1 was out of reach with Prime standing on watch to allow his soldiers time to enjoy Jazz's party, and obviously the repair bay was also off limits, but there were other ways to hack the medical database and he knew of half a dozen. He, Jazz and Bumblebee regularly tested their skills against the system, retrieving confidential information just to keep their skills sharp. There had never been a need to hack the medbanks before because none of them could read the data written in the specialised medical script - or, at least, none of them had admitted to the skill, which was not quite the same thing in their line of work - but he knew they were not heavily encrypted. Even better, he knew Perceptor already had access from his quarters because he was an officer and was occasionally consulted in treatments for virus-based issues. With Perceptor in the repair bay, Prowl confined to quarters, and the other officers in the rec room getting drunk, there should be no problem.

* * *

Perceptor stood in the centre of his room, staring at the blank wall opposite the door. He had long since shut off his comm system, not wanting to know when the others returned, not wanting to think about anything at all, really.

It was not his fault, of course. He was not built for medical procedures, and Primus knew he had always been squeamish around the injured. Under the circumstances he had thought he could overcome his fears enough to at least supervise the helpers, but from the moment he saw Wheeljack's injuries he had known he was in trouble.

Ratchet had seemed far less injured - at least there was no obvious leaking fluid - so he had lurked around outside the bay until they brought him in. But when he saw what the injury actually was, and realised that he would be expected to physically assist, it had been too much. There was no way he was going to be responsible for killing either of his fellow mechs through ignorance, and he knew he was ignorant. Ignorant and afraid.

To even ask him to do it was just unfair, he decided. His skills were in data analysis, physics and chemistry. Not open CPU surgery. Not critical medical care. No-one would ever ask one of the Dinobots to act as a sniper, no-one would expect Powerglide to take on a Constructicon in a melee battle, so it stood to reason that he should be excused for this completely inappropriate task. He would tell Prime so, too. It was probably just a result of the panic when they realised what had happened, which was not his fault either. Yes, he had been on duty when the explosion occurred, but organising the clean up of these messes was Prowl's job not his. How was he to know that this time it was so serious?

The sound of the door opening behind him made him spin about, already explaining, expecting Prowl or Prime.

"I had to leave, you see, the whole task was an entirely inappropriate match to my skills and I..."

He trailed off, confused when he found no-one there. Then back-tracked half a step as Mirage dropped his inverter field.

"Perceptor? What are you doing here? Is the surgery over?"

"I... I... Th-these are my quarters. How dare you just barge in here and...?"

"You said you had to leave? What's going on? Why aren't you in the repair bay or reporting to Prime?"

"I don't have to answer to you, get out of my quarters. I'm busy."

Mirage stared at him for a moment, then vanished again. After a few clicks, the door slid shut. Perceptor sagged in relief. Alone again. That gave him another short reprieve to consider how to frame his explanation. Prowl was logical, and Prime trusted him. It was just a matter of finding the right words. Then there would be no problem.

* * *

~Jazz! ~

Jazz stopped singing at the priority ping, indicating that he was heading out for some fresh air, and slipped away from the others.

~Mirage? What's up? Cons again?~

~Meet me in your office.~

He nodded to Cliffjumper who was following him out and made a quick excuse about needing to get something from his quarters, then hurried away. What could have happened now? This day, which had started so very promisingly, was just getting worse and worse. Stepping into the office he did not hesitate to close and lock the door, even though the room appeared to be empty. As expected, Mirage was already there and materialised to one side of his desk as soon as the door was shut.

"Do you know where Perceptor is?" the spy asked darkly.

"In the repair bay."

"No. He's not. He's hiding in his room, right now. And if what I just heard him say is true, he's been there the whole time."

Jazz frowned. That did not make any sense, but first there was another small matter to clarify.

"What were you doing in his quarters?"

Mirage did not look the least bit repentant.

"First Aid'll need access to Ratchet's files. Perceptor's terminal was the easiest to hack."

"Next time wait for orders." Jazz suggested drily, then lied to divert his spy's attention. "Prime has already given First Aid the access codes he needs, so there's no need to hack. But if you don't wanna stay in the rec room, I've got a different mission for you. Primus only knows what's gotten inta Prowl's programmin' t'day but we'd better check up on this theory of his that the Cons mighta been up ta somethin' else. See what you can dig up, eh?"

"You wish me to infiltrate the Decepticon base?" Mirage asked curiously. "I understood we were avoiding that activity for now."

"I ain't rulin' it out, but see what else ya can come up with. Jus' trackin' a wounded 'Con back from battle might be enough to pick up some answers. This is an unofficial op, so it'll be limited backup. Come back to me when you've got an outline."

The spy nodded thoughtfully, and Jazz turned away. Prime would probably be horrified by the casual nature of this assignment, but that was why he had Jazz in charge of Special Ops instead of handling it personally. Best that the boss did not really know what his shadier staff got up to. Besides, he needed to distract Mirage from the idea of hacking into Ratchet's personal notes. Yes, he was right it was something that the acting-CMO should have access to, but there were secrets in there that Jazz could not trust to even one of his staff, even knowing how circumspect they were. He was not even sure that he trusted himself.

If Ratchet had so much as hinted at his bond with Prowl it might be enough for someone like Mirage to put the pieces together and come out with the whole truth. Or at least enough to do real damage. And that was only one of a myriad of secrets Ratchet might know. What would First Aid make of those confidences? It made sense that Ratchet may have left notes for his successor in the case of his death, but the danger inherent in passing that information on was significant.

First things first, he would investigate the situation with Perceptor. Then talk to Prowl - who had no doubt calmed down by now - since he would be able to weigh the risks properly and determine the best method of neutralising them. He would worry about everything else as and when he had time.

* * *

Sideswipe stared blankly at First Aid for a moment.

"Go." the medic repeated.

"But... don't you need me to watch the monitors?"

"Not anymore. He's stable on life support. He can stay that way for a megavorn and it won't do any major harm unless someone changes the settings. And we're pretty much done with Wheeljack now. Hoist can help me finish off."

Sideswipe cast a brief glance to the corner where Huffer had collapsed some time ago. Hoist looked unsteady on his feet, like he was about to go into involuntary recharge, and First Aid did not look much better. It had been a long, trying day. Day? Actually, he was not sure how long he had been in here. It could have been orns for all he knew. His chronometer claimed it had been 17 hours but surely it had been longer than that?

"I could stay and watch them while you get some rest." he offered.

First Aid peered at him.

"I thought you wanted to get out of here? Anyway, you're about to collapse too. Go and get some recharge and come back later."

Until the medic had said it, he had not really considered how tired he was himself. Now that he put a bit of thought into it, he saw the red warning message blinking at the bottom left of his HUD, warning imminent shutdown if he did not get some energon and rest. Even so, he was not sure if he could actually bring himself to lie down on a recharge berth yet; he was too jittery.

The worst was certainly over, there was no doubt about that. Ratchet actually looked peaceful lying on that repair bed, so long as you ignored the tubes and wires plugged into his side and the temporary plate tacked over his forehead just above his chevron. As for Wheeljack, there was no more fluid spillage, no more arcing wires, and most of the power diversions had been removed as his own circuitry came back online. Sideswipe had seen the aftermath of enough surgery on himself and his brother to know that the danger was past. So he turned and drifted out into the hallway.

Not really thinking about where he was going, he found himself standing in the doorway of the rec room staring dazedly at what appeared to be the full complement of Autobots crammed into the small space, talking and drinking and laughing like they were having a party. An ember of anger began to burn in him as he stood there. A party? What the slag were they celebrating? Did they not realise how bad Wheeljack and Ratchet's injuries were? Why had no-one been waiting anxiously outside the repair bay doors for news? What if one of them had died? Had they thought of that? How dare they celebrate!

"Sides?"

He swayed, his vision suddenly blocked by a wall of yellow. Tottering a little on his pedes, his equilibrium sensors a little sluggish from exhaustion, he finally focused enough to recognise his brother as the other mech said his name for the third time, now sounding very concerned.

"Sides? What happened? What's going on?"

He stared blankly for a moment, then grinned at his twin as he remembered the good news he wanted to share.

"They're gonna be okay!"


	9. Making plans

Ironhide had been leaning on Prime's desk but he straightened as he heard the door chime.

He had just finished telling Optimus about Sideswipe's dramatic entrance and announcement at the rec room, how there had been a moment of confusion as the tall warrior had suddenly collapsed and Sunstreaker had pointed out that it was just energon depletion. With a bit of coaxing they had gotten half a cube into the red twin and he had roused again long enough to repeat his news and start railing at them all for partying while he had been working. A very unusual situation. Not that many had stuck around to listen to him; now that the news had arrived most of the mechs had retired to their own quarters and Ironhide intended to do much the same but had come here first.

The door opened and First Aid peering inside.

"Uh, excuse me, sir...?"

"Come in, First Aid." Optimus instructed warmly. "I hear congratulations are in order."

The medic frowned in brief confusion, then smiled.

"Sideswipe said something, did he? I didn't think he'd make it any further than his recharge berth."

"He didn't." Ironhide shrugged. "'Cept that's not where he headed. But it's good to hear it's true. I didn't know if we'd ever see either of them again, the mess they were in."

First Aid's smile flickered.

"Yes, well... there are still issues. They're both stable, and I'll bring Wheeljack back online tomorrow. But there's still a lot of damage that I'm not sure how to fix. And Ratchet... I don't know how long it'll be before he's back online. There's so much damage, and if I do the wrong thing we might lose him completely. It could be a long time..."

"You're doing your best." Optimus encouraged him. "The first miracle is that you managed to save them at all. This next bit you can take your time over, so do. Get some rest, do some research, and take it slowly."

First Aid nodded slowly, taking that in, and Ironhide decided that he would escort the other mech back to his recharge berth so he did not just collapse in the corridor. But before he could even suggest it, the door opened again; this time to admit Prowl and Jazz. Ironhide nearly groaned. Earlier those two had been bickering enough to try the patience of Primus himself, not that that was all that unusual. They had always had their arguments, ever since Prowl had boarded the _Ark_ , but since arriving on Earth it had been much more frequent. Probably due to being in such close proximity. In any case, for them to have made up so quickly it meant that they were both set on some sort of action, and coming here meant they wanted Prime's approval.

After the day they'd just had, Ironhide didn't care if it was the best plan ever conceived, he just wanted to get some charge. He considered the distance between himself and the door. No. He would have to push past them to get to it. He was stuck.

"There has been news, sir?" Prowl asked.

"First Aid was just reporting that they are both stable. May I assume you've calmed down?"

First Aid gaped, but Prowl was unruffled.

"I have given the current situation further consideration and decided that there are other priorities to be focused on at this time. In our current situation it is vital that as many of us as possible are focused on our regular duties so that we might keep ahead of whatever the Decepticons are up to. Moreover, Jazz has approached me with a plan which I believe we should implement. Unless Ratchet is already back online?"

"No, not for some time yet." Optimus responded when it became clear that First Aid was not going to speak. "What plan?"

"Aid needs access to Ratchet's notes." Jazz said bluntly, crossing his arms. "It's the only way he'll be able to access the sort of information he'll need to help'em both. An' to look after the rest of us while Ratchet's offline."

Prime inclined his head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and Ironhide frowned.

"Now wait a slagging minute, those notes have information that was meant to stay hidden. I know for a fact that Ratchet encrypts his notes and that's not just for fun."

"You're right." Prowl nodded gravely. "There is information there that should not be disseminated. And likely information that our current acting-CMO is not yet prepared for even if Ratchet had been lost today. Prime's override codes would give him full access, but there is still the encryption to manage, and only Ratchet himself could say whether the information there is appropriate or relevant."

"What do you propose?" Optimus asked.

"I'll hack my own data." Jazz spoke up. "I'm not fluent, but I can read enough medi-script to pick up what it's talking about. Then I'll hack Prowl's - he's given his permission - and compare the type of entries. If there's a pattern, we should be able t'figure out if it's gonna do any good t'start gettin' into Jack's. Prowl thinks it'd be good to have a third set o'data t'look at, so wit' Aid's permission I'll hack his too. Since the Protectobots barely came aboard before we crashed there won't be much there, but it'll give a good idea of the structure of the entries. Once we're done, I'll get inta what look like the appropriate parts of Jack's file, lookin' for whatever First Aid says he needs, an' hopefully not find too much he wouldn't want me t'see. Then, with Jack's help, we'll look into Ratchet's."

"We can not be sure that Ratchet will have made any notes on himself," Prowl cautioned, "but it seems likely that he would at least have recorded the basics for situations such as this."

Ironhide glanced at Optimus. He knew there were things that Ratchet could have recorded about himself which he would not want Wheeljack to see, given their current sparksharing relationship. If Ratchet wanted to conceal the truth about the damage done to his spark all those vorns ago, it was his choice, and it was not really something Jazz should know about, either.

On the other hand, if it would save the medic's life, was it not worth a few old secrets being spilt?

"You are volunteering to let Jazz view your file?" Optimus asked Prowl.

The tactician nodded readily.

"We have worked together for many years; there is little that can be in my file that he has not already discovered. It is better to have three files for comparison to reduce the margin for error, and Jazz is discreet."

"Compliments so soon after you were wanting to take his head off?" Ironhide checked, though it was nothing he had not seen before.

Prowl looked at him coolly.

"I intended no physical violence. And my respect for Jazz's professionalism within the scope of his own duties has nothing to do with my ongoing irritation for his behaviour outside of that context."

"And if First Aid declines?" Prime asked, pulling the conversation back onto track.

"Then we can either find a third volunteer, or take the chance that the structure of the two sample files will not mislead us."

Optimus nodded thoughtfully, then looked around at all of them.

"This remains within this room. No-one else is to know this is being considered. Jazz, I will give you my override which you will not share with anyone. You have my permission to search for and decrypt your own files, and Prowl's, but no more than that. If there is no obvious pattern by that point, we will reconsider before you go any further. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Jazz nodded, giving a lazy salute.

"What?" Prowl frowned, having missed the gesture and only heard the word spoken in an unfamiliar context.

Jazz sighed, draping an arm over Prowl's shoulder.

"We really gotta have that chat about slang, Prowl m'man. But right now, lets talk medical. Wanna tell me what I'm gonna find before I embarrass ya?"

Optimus frowned after them but did not protest, and Ironhide noticed that First Aid was looking even more unstable.

"Prime, if you'll excuse us, I'll see First Aid back to his quarters then head to my own. Come on, kid, lets get you to where you can rest."

* * *

"Oh you have gotta be slagging _kidding_ me." Windcharger huffed. "Is this roster some kind of joke?"

Curious, Bumblebee accessed the duty server. Sure enough, the roster had been posted and it was far from standard. Instead of a three groon break now, he was assigned to maintenance with... Sunstreaker?

"Who wrote this?" Gears grumbled. "Must be a prank."

"Who, though?" Cliffjumper asked.

"Hey, I'm not complaining." Beachcomber shrugged. "It'll be good to do something different for once."

"You're down for city patrol."

"Sounds fine to me."

"With Perceptor?"

The geologist paused, then nodded again although he now looked less comfortable.

"Well I don't spend much time talking to him, it'll be good to catch up."

"But city patrol needs two _mobile_ mechs. You'll have to do twice the distance."

"Could be worse." Warpath muttered morosely.

Surprised at his tone, Bumblebee looked up what the other minibot had been assigned to: official guide for some visiting humans, along with Powerglide and Sludge? Yes, he was right. It could definitely be worse.

* * *

Pinpoint shifted uneasily as the Prowl continued to stare at the screen.

"Sir?"

"When I asked you to revise the rosters taking into account the events of yesterday and the fact that not everyone will be available for full duties, this is not quite what I had expected. Can you explain _why_ you have been quite so creative?"

"Well, sir, you've said many times that it's important to pair mechs up in different ways to understand who works well together, and since I'm still figuring that out, and since there was a battle yesterday so there probably won't be one today, I thought it might be a good opportunity."

Prowl nodded absently.

"I see. You have certainly attempted combinations I had not considered. Still, I think perhaps I will need to be a little more specific in my instructions the next time I leave you to do the roster."

"Something's wrong?"

Prowl looked at him sharply.

"You don't see anything wrong with this?"

"Well you did say you wanted all the main fighters restricted to base in case of another attack, so I was limited by..."

Prowl waved a hand towards the screen.

"This is not just limited, it..."

He broke off abruptly at the chime of an incoming message.

"Go ahead."

"Prowl - we've got a fluid leak down near one of the generators that powers the security office and Red won't let us work on it."

"Alright, Grapple, I'm on my way. Data burst me the details." Prowl refocused on Pinpoint. "No more jokes. Change the roster to a more rational fit with mecha's skillsets; we will worry about fairly rotating tasks some other day when there is not quite so much going on. And get started on that research I assigned you - I'll be back to check when I have time."

* * *

"You've finished already?" a familiar voice preceded the mech coming through the door. "Red Alert will be displeased that you found it so simple. He's already rather agitated."

Prowl was prompt as always, arriving shortly after the comm call in spite of the fact that Pinpoint had claimed not to know precisely where he was. Briefly Jazz wondered how his mate managed to get anything at all done, given the amount of time he spent running around the base.

"Course he is." he responded. "He's been away for the first time since we crashed here an' all _this_ happens."

"Indeed." Prowl nodded, moving to stand beside him. "So. Success?"

"Yeah. There wasn't a lot to hack through. The encryption's really basic, I think Hatchet might've designed it himself."

"That is disturbing." Prowl frowned. "We cannot have classified medical data being easily accessible. Although, this appears fully encrypted to me."

"It is." Jazz agreed. "An' I didn't say it ain't secure: it's still under two levels of security includin' Red's own, plus bein' written in medi-script which would stop most mechs from reading it. But once you're in, you've got two options t'get to the text. You either gotta have Ratchet's own access codes to open ev'rythin' up, or use a trigger query."

"Which would be?"

"Any query that identifies data as a relevance hit of 95 percent or better. You can see the encrypted files, but you can't read'em without the right codes _unless_ you ask the right questions. Fire that up and run the query I've got loaded."

He listened to the quiet tapping on the keyboard, noting the short pause as his partner took in the scenario he had programmed: one of Jazz's spark casing being crushed in a battle. Prowl made no comment, but Jazz wrapped his arms around himself and continued to pace.

Ratchet had never really approved of their contingency plans for continuing to hide their bond should one of them die, and Jazz had always been rather reassured by that since he was not always sure he approved of it himself. He understood that it would be a devastating blow to the Autobots to lose both of them, and thus if one perished the other must at least try to struggle on. Prowl was committed to making the attempt if it came to it, but Jazz had always doubted whether he would cope. And now, after reading Ratchet's notes on the process planned, he was not even sure he wanted Prowl surviving him. Not if it had to be done this way.

He was already considering carrying some kind of suicide device with him so that he could detonate it the moment he felt Prowl fall, regardless of how much Prime needed him, but should he prepare the same for his lover? Or was Prowl already aware of Ratchet's plans?

There was another burst of rapid tapping, then the terminal was powered down and Prowl looked over at him.

"So. The data we wish to continue to conceal should remain untouched, then, since there is no reason for any of the relevant queries to trigger it."

Jazz nodded grimly.

"This time. But if Ratchet doesn't make it, we're gonna have to figure out what to do about Aid. Do we tell him? Or just let him come across it and hope he doesn't make the connection?"

"It's far too early to make that decision. What matters is that our position will not be compromised by his access to the data he requires." He paused. "You're upset by this."

Jazz gave him a sour smile.

"How observant of you. Gee, it couldn't possibly be from reading through the gory details of the torture we've got planned for our future."

"Jazz..."

"Actually, you know I think it'd be better to just kill ourselves now and get it over with, at least that way there's no longer a problem, right?"

"This is neither the time or place to go back over this." Prowl reminded him.

"No of course not. That would be... hmm, when exactly _do_ we discuss things like this again?"

Prowl was losing patience, he could tell, but he could not deny himself one last bitter comment.

"I've been through some nasty slag in my career, but this rates right up there with some o'the Cons' best torture plans. What kind of processor can even _think_ of things like that, let alone plan to _use_ 'em on another mech?"

"The content was that disturbing?" a new voice asked, making him turn in surprise.

"Prime!"

Had their commander arrived in time to hear his sarcastic retort? Or more? He would have to assume the worst until he could be sure and get himself back under control before he made it worse; it was an unforgivable mistake that he had raised the topic of their bond even obliquely when the door was unlocked.

"Jazz found it so," Prowl was nodding, entirely professional, "but he also began to tell me about a trigger for the encryption which should resolve our issues."

Optimus looked at him curiously and Jazz pulled himself together.

"Yeah, there're protocols in the encryption set to decrypt automatically if the query entered is related to the content. If it doesn't decrypt, it's because it's unrelated. So if Ratchet knows anything about his own CPU wiring and encrypted it, it'll become available when the query is entered, then re-encrypt when the query is cleared. I just had Prowl try it out himself."

"And it worked?" Prime asked.

Prowl nodded, looking thoughtful.

"Indeed. In fact, I would consider it a security hazard if not for the fact that it is hidden behind the main access locks. It is perhaps best that this remain a carefully guarded secret."

Prime nodded.

"Agreed. Please inform First Aid that he is to formulate some specific queries he wants answers to, then bring him to meet us in my office. And later I want to discuss crew discipline: Ratchet and Wheeljack should never have been left unnoticed for so long. Jazz - I would speak with you a moment."

Prowl bowed shortly and left, and Jazz looked at his commander curiously.

"Problem, boss?"

"Two. Firstly - I need to know if you're okay."

"Me?"

"Prowl may not know what you went through at the start of the war, and Primus knows I hardly do myself, but Ratchet did a lot of work undoing it, didn't he?"

Jazz winced openly, relieved to have found a good excuse for whatever Optimus might have heard.

"Yeah. He did. But it's okay, he... he wasn't explicit in much of it. Wouldn't wanna be the mech who gets to analyse it, though."

Prime nodded.

"I have already decided that First Aid's use of the database is to be closely monitored to ensure he accesses only the files he absolutely needs. Many of us have things in our past that a young mind may not easily comprehend, and we need him functioning and focused. That includes Ratchet himself, though whether he would note his own past crises in such a database is debatable. Nevertheless, even if this goes poorly and it is discovered that it is already too late to save him, I have no intention of giving First Aid unrestricted access to this information. I would like you to start considering how we could build firewalls within the database to adequately restrict him. Now as to the second matter: Mirage is not to leave this base without my explicit permission."

Jazz thought he managed to hide his surprise successfully.

"Mirage? Is he injured?"

"I understand you have been plotting something. Whatever it is, I'm stopping it now until we've gotten this current situation sorted out. Firs Aid does not need any more injured to deal with."

"Aw boss, _plotting_ 's a bit too strong don't ya think?"

"What that means," he continued implacably, "is that I want Mirage, Bumblebee and Hound where I can find them at any given moment. Rearrange the roster so that they are on duty in the command centre at regular intervals; tell Bumblebee he is not to go visiting Spike for the next few days; and make sure none of them are on the outer patrols where they might accidentally get lost or go off track. When they _are_ on patrol, they are to be matched with suitable partners who will understand the necessity of following orders and not be swayed into checking out some hunch that any of them might have. And as an extra precaution, I have asked Silverbolt and Hot Spot to have their teams keep an eye on every Autobot who leaves the _Ark_ , to ensure everyone is safe. Is that clear?"

Jazz knew when a battle was lost and smiled reassuringly.

"Course, boss. No worries."

"Good. Now come, lets hear what First Aid has to say about Wheeljack."


	10. Beware a bored Bee

The news was mixed, Prowl mused as First Aid continued responding to questions.

It seemed that for Wheeljack's recovery, at least, there was no need to delve into the encrypted files: everything First Aid needed was already accessible to him through his current login, and he would be ready to bring the inventor online again in another hour. Prime counselled him to wait a bit longer so that they could have more of a plan in place to handle Ratchet first. First Aid, remarkably, had not known that Ratchet and Wheeljack were lovers, and grew quite flustered as he realised that this would complicate matters.

Prowl flicked his gaze to his own lover who was now asking a question about Sideswipe. Jazz had regained his equilibrium, as expected. Nothing knocked the saboteur for long; at least, not visibly, but then that was no indication of his emotional state beneath the surface. He would have to do something about arranging some shared off duty time so that they could talk this out before Jazz had too long to stew over it, he mused, and immediately determined the best course of action: having his current work shift end three breems before Jazz's next one was due to start would probably suffice without causing any suspicion. There were advantages to working on separate shifts.

Getting back to the matter at hand, it seemed that there was still a serious problem with Ratchet. First Aid had explained what he had had to do in order to stop the damage worsening as the gestalt battle had continued to send shockwaves through the base, and he was very clear that his efforts may have complicated matters. The medic wanted to do some research before taking any further action, though he couldn't be sure if it would help: he was not at all certain he would find a similar case to analyse.

Of course, it may already have been too late from the moment the accident occurred, as Prime pointed out compassionately. First Aid conceded that point easily enough, but was not willing to give up hope until he was absolutely sure there was nothing more he could do. A good attitude.

"Alright, that's enough for now." Prime nodded when it became clear that First Aid was starting to repeat himself. "I can see you've recharged, but I think you should also take some time out of the repair bay to clear your head. Is there someone who is rested who can watch over Ratchet and Wheeljack in your absence?"

"Percy's free." Jazz suggested casually, toying with a data crystal.

Prowl looked across at him in surprise. Jazz usually left any such assignments to him to make. Why would he step in now, and why choose Perceptor in particular? Interestingly, First Aid looked startled at the suggestion, then... guilty?

"Uh, yes, I think he's rested, but maybe it'd be better if Hoist or even Sideswipe..."

"I got the feelin' 'Ceptor don't feel he did enough t'help." Jazz said blandly, making Prowl even more suspicious. "I'm sure he'll be keen to help out. I'll go let him know. All done for now, Prime?"

"Just get that schedule reorganised before midday." Prime nodded, also watching him suspiciously.

"Will do."

He left and Prime looked to Prowl.

"What's this about Perceptor?"

"I'll find out. Was there anything else, sir?"

"No, but Jazz will want your assistance with rearranging the work roster. His team is going to be doing some more active base work for the next few orns. And I'd appreciate it if you'd escort First Aid back to his brothers."

Prowl nodded, already intending to change the rosters at the earliest opportunity, and led the way out. Once the door was closed, though, First Aid put a staying hand on his arm.

"Uh, Prowl, sir? Perceptor's not in trouble is he? I mean, I'm the one who sent him out."

"Sent him out?" Prowl echoed.

"Yes. He wasn't handling the sight of the damage very well and I didn't have time to look after him as well so I sent him away."

Prowl glanced up the hallway, then looked back at the medic.

"Perceptor is an officer and expected to act like one at all times. If he was acting inappropriately then he will be handled accordingly. But you don't need to worry about that. You are the Chief Medical Officer at the moment, and you can throw anyone you please out of that bay. Now come, we will find your brothers."

"Oh, I can find them. You don't need to come, I'm sure you're busy."

"You can find them, but others will find you first. Best that you are not alone, otherwise you could be swarmed by mechs wanting the latest info on your patients. Isn't that so, Bumblebee?"

The yellow mech stepped out of the alcove he had been concealed in, smiling widely.

"We all really just want to know what's going on."

"And you will all find out in due course. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for Jazz - he commed to say to meet him in his office."

"Then go into his office and wait there; he will undoubtedly return shortly."

* * *

Twenty minutes later Bumblebee left Jazz's office feeling disgruntled but trying hard not to show it.

Just what did Prime think his special ops team was for if not for gathering information and sneaking about? He had no idea what had started this, though he was sure that Jazz did, but all that really mattered was that they were now all confined to base until further notice. It did not matter that he was supposed to be picking up Spike and Carly tonight and taking them out to that concert that had been planned for weeks. Nor that on his way there he was supposed to be stopping off at his favourite spot for hacking into the internet and checking on messages from his own fast-growing spy network. Messages which had saved their afts more than once already. And it couldn't be done from the _Ark_ because the access would be picked up by Teletran.

He stopped, clenching his fists and forcing more air to cycle through his systems for a moment. Jazz knew how useful that network was, even if Prime did not know it existed. The fact that the officer had not pushed harder against this unfair ruling suggested that now was not the time to be difficult. If Jazz wanted to, he could arrange it so that whatever tasks he wanted completed would still be done. In fact, he may well be doing that anyway. There may well be a more important task than his ones, so he was needed to play decoy. Either way, he may well never learn the truth.

Sighing, he unclenched his fists and schooled his expression to disappointment with just the right degree of cuteness, then trudged dejectedly along towards the command centre. Most of the mechs in the _Ark_ thought he was in Jazz's team simply to even the numbers up a little. Very few had any idea that he was a trained infiltrator, spy and explosives expert. Outside of those few, he doubted many would believe it even if he told them the truth.

"Hey, Bumblebee, what's the matter?" Cliffjumper asked, taking in his slow steps.

"I gotta call Spike. Turns out I can't go to the concert after all."

"Why not?" Blaster asked.

"Jazz's put me on patrol duty. Prime wants everyone to stay close to base until we know if Ratchet's okay."

They commiserated with him and he traded comments for awhile both before and after the call, but when he left Blaster chased after him.

"Spike sounded really disappointed, huh?"

"He was. I am too - I was looking forward to it."

"Strange that Jazz wouldn't just let you do that." Blaster frowned. "It's not like it'd be dangerous."

Bumblebee sighed.

"Nah, but Prime'd be on his aft, and..."

"Does Jazz seem okay to you, Bee?"

An odd question.

"Jazz? Sure. Why?"

Blaster shook his head a little, then leaned close suddenly.

"Look, you hear a lot of the gossip around here before anyone else. Did he have a bad break up with someone?"

Stranger and stranger.

"Not that I've heard."

"Maybe it's Prowl, then." Blaster muttered. "That's what he said it was, but then he says things and they're not always... Well, anyway, can't stay, got tracks to play."

He watched the taller mech head back to the command centre, bemused. Blaster thought there was something wrong with Jazz, and it was _Prowl_ 's fault? Well now, there was something to keep him occupied during this restriction. It would be something Jazz had planned for the other mech to think, he was sure - Jazz was a consummate actor - but even just unravelling whatever he was trying to convince Blaster of would be enough to be interesting, and if he could determine what was under _that_ then that was an even bigger bonus. He would just have to start watching Jazz and Prowl more closely.

* * *

First Aid stared at the water rushing past, lost in thought over the complications of intimate relationships. It was something of a foreign concept.

On Telbi Pralnor, where they had spent most of their lives since activation it had just been the five of them and their creator; arriving at Iacon and being put with the _Ark_ team, each of them had had a few trysts outside their team and experienced the peculiarly unfamiliar sensations of sharing with someone you were not linked to. It was not unpleasant but nor was it as addictive as others claimed. They enjoyed a bit of fun with each other, but none of them were bonded to each other, and none of them were particularly devoted. Not in _that_ way. They were inseparable as a team, but they generally recharged alone and only shared as a game or for stress release, not because they had any particular passion for each other. Which brought him back to the reason he was out here brooding.

What would it be like to love another mech so much that you would consider sharing with anyone else to be wrong and the loss of your partner to be unbearable? With all the mechs around, why choose to limit yourself to just one? What did exclusivity get you that promiscuity would not? Well, other than bonding, but that was just ridiculous. No-one got bonded anymore, not with the war on - it was not only ridiculous, but also illegal. All the bonded pairs had died out megavorns ago, and besides it was forbidden. Anyone found to be bonded was immediately exiled, it had been that way for centuries. He wasn't quite sure why; maybe just because one death would cost two.

"Aid? You okay?"

He looked up as Blades settled down beside him, somewhat pleased to have a distraction from his looping thoughts.

"Just thinking."

"About work? I thought you said Prime said for you to take a break."

First Aid sighed.

"Actually, it wasn't quite that. Blades, did you know Ratchet and Wheeljack are sparkmates? Long-term?"

Blades shrugged.

"Nope. I never see much of either of them."

"Why do you s'pose mechs do that?"

"Do what?"

"Stay with one lover. It seems so... restrictive. And it only causes problems. I need Wheeljack's help with Ratchet, but Prime's told me he mightn't be much help because they've been lovers so long and he won't be focused. It's a problem. It's _always_ a problem. And if you're not bonded, then..."

"Bonded! Who's bonded?"

"No-one, that's the point. If you're bonded, you can't share with anyone else. There's some physical restriction, or something. I don't really know the details, there isn't much point studying it since no-one does it anymore. But why would anyone act like they were bonded when they're not really? There's nothing to stop either of them sharing with someone else if they like, so what's the big deal?"

Blades looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged again.

"No idea, Aid. Maybe it's one of those old programming things. For mechs who were built before the war, when it was okay to bond."

"But why would you even do it then?" First Aid railed, frustrated. "It doesn't make sense. What do you get out of it? And it's permanent, so you'd better choose the right mech. And when your partner dies, then oops: you do too. It doesn't make any sense!"

He stopped, then huffed.

"I'm so glad I wasn't a medic when there were bonded pairs. If you lose one patient, you lose two. But this is bad enough. Ratchet's professional enough to get the job done regardless of who he's treating, so why can't Wheeljack be? If he doesn't help, or doesn't think about what he's doing, he could make things worse. How does _that_ help his lover? The whole thing's crazy."

Blades considered, then stretched.

"You could try asking Jazz." he offered finally. "He's been around since the start of the war and seen plenty, and he's very easy to talk to."

"You've been talking to him about pairings?"

Blades grinned.

"Kind of."

First Aid knew that Hot Spot was uncomfortable with them spending too much time outside of their group, and especially when that time was spent with Prime's officers. His own training with Ratchet had caused them to spend joors apart, and their team leader fretted that Prime would start to assign the others to separate teams too. Jazz and Prowl in particular were to be avoided, since they were the two most likely to suggest to Prime that such a thing might happen. Blades' tone, though, suggested something different from swapping stories over energon.

"You _shared_ with him? When?"

"A few weeks ago."

"But... you must've heard what Bumblebee said about him...?"

Blades shrugged.

"I don't have a problem with it. And he's fun. He understands about the gestalt link, and he said straight up that he knew it wouldn't feel as intense because he wasn't linked to me, but he said it could feel good anyway if it was done right. And it did."

"How'd he know that? He's never been linked. Has he?"

"Don't think so. He was made before there even were gestalts. I guess he's just shared with enough others to know. He started to tell me some story about one time before the war when he'd actually interfaced with a seeker trine - all three at once! - but then we got interrupted. If anyone'll know why mechs do what they do, it'll be him."

First Aid nodded thoughtfully. He would talk to Jazz when he got a chance. Right now, though, he had wasted enough time: he had work to do.

* * *

"Hey Mirage, you got a free breem or so?"

Mirage looked at his visitor sourly. He was one of a very small group of mechs who knew that Bumblebee's bubbly personality was just a mask that the younger mech had cultivated from an early age and never dropped unless certain his cover would not be blown. Given their long-term habitation plans on this planet and the loss of privacy in their current accommodations it must be a tiresome future to contemplate, and so he usually tolerated the falseness with reasonable good will. But this question was just a little too inane for his dark mood today.

"You know I do, thanks to Jazz."

"Ah yes. Jazz." Bumblebee nodded wisely. "Interesting thing I heard today about our illustrious leader. Want in on a side op? At worst it'll be a diversion. At best, we may actually come out of it with some blackmail material on the Jazz-mech himself."

Mirage cocked his head, interested but cautious. He had tried for something on Jazz several times before and it had always fallen through.

"You realise he's probably playing you?"

"Maybe, maybe not. If he is, he's being a bit clumsy about it. Tell me what you think. You hear that yesterday he was seen herding Blaster into his quarters for a quick sharing?"

Mirage nodded impatiently, knowing that there would have to be more to get Bumblebee interested. After all, Jazz frequently had trysts with mechs all over the ship.

"And?"

"Well here's the thing. With a bit of poking about, I found out Blaster actually overloaded him."

Mirage dismissed the idea as unlikely and returned to cleaning his pistol.

"Sounds like he wanted him to think that."

"With anyone else I'd be inclined to agree." Bumblebee nodded, sinking down on a nearby crate. "Thing is, he's done this with Blaster dozens of times, and Blaster's never had any complaints, but this time he was caught by surprise because it was 'so intense' - his own words to Smokescreen. And what's weirder is that he says they'd barely even gotten started, and Jazz looked upset about it, like it wasn't supposed to happen. Now that could still be acting, I know, but then Prime called him and he had to take off, and Blaster says he was still crackling when he left. And Groove and Swoop and Beachcomber all say they saw the same thing. And Beachcomber _also_ says that Jazz greeted him as _Windcharger_ , which is something I confirmed with the security tapes."

Mirage subspaced his pistol, his interest caught now. Red Alert trusted very few of the mechs on board, but his faith in Bumblebee was the special ops team's favourite in-joke. Whenever they needed something checked or recorded or erased from the tapes, Bumblebee was the easiest option and Red never suspected him at all. He even had a regular slot watching the live monitors. That aside, though, he was right: this was getting unusual. If Jazz was putting on an act here, it was rather an elaborate one. Overloading with Blaster in such a way that the other mech might start to wonder about all those other times. And then being caught still reeling from that as he escaped? Very sloppy. Or dangerously subtle. Playing with real overcharges meant trusting that you would not be in a position to spill something you did not mean to.

"Now," Bumblebee continued, enjoying his recitation, "the tapes show Jazz going into his room after his shift, and then emerging again just under a breem later. That basically fits what he told Blaster about being caught out finding Prowl there in recharge. They probably exchanged notes on the changed duty roster or something, but then Jazz got out and went looking for a diversion. Problem is, Prime interrupted and sent him back looking for Prowl to get some work done, so he didn't get much of a break. But here's where it gets interesting. See, Blaster thinks that Jazz was already charged up before they got together and that's why it was so quick. And it _was_ quick - the tapes show they were together less than a third of a breem. So either it was planned, or he was on the edge anyway. But looking back at the tapes of his shift, there's no sign of it. In fact, when he swaps with Ironhide he comments that he's got a new CD from Spike to listen to, which suggests he was just going back to his room to listen to music like he often does. Finding Prowl there must've put a crimp in his plans, but it should've just sent him off to the rec room or some other space to listen to his music, not running for the first mech he can jump."

"You think he's pining for Prowl?" Mirage asked sceptically. "But then why even leave the room?"

"Maybe Prowl turned him down."

"Then why go back, still arcing with overcharge? Are we sure Prime really called?"

"Yes. Ironhide confirmed that for me. Seems Prowl called _him_ to let him know he was on med-leave. Prime couldn't call him back because he'd turned off his comm, so he tried Jazz."

"But if Prowl was on med-leave, why did Jazz go racing back to Prowl? And why did he tell Blaster he had to do work with Prowl when Prowl was ordered to rest and Jazz knew it?"

Bumblebee grinned.

" _Exactly_. Doesn't make sense, does it? And here's the really good bit. You know Prowl and Jazz were the first to find Wheeljack and Ratchet, right? Well they only went looking after Smokescreen went to tell them First Aid was wondering where Ratchet was. He found them both still in their quarters, and that was a good _two hours_ after Jazz got back."

Mirage sat up straight.

"In the same berth?"

Bumblebee shook his head.

"I couldn't ask too much without getting him suspicious, but sounds like it looked innocent. He said something about Prowl working, so he was probably at his desk. Smokey definitely didn't make any connections, so they can't've been interrupted. You know how sensitive he is to that kind of thing; I think it's some kind of special gambler's sense."

Mirage sank back against the side of the crate.

"Then that just suggests he did what they said."

"Yes, but he still lied, and obviously too. And then remember what happened when the alert came."

"Jazz hugged him and called him..." Mirage trailed off thoughtfully.

"Sparkles. Funny sorta nickname, even for Jazz, right? I thought he was just ribbing him like he usually does, even if the word was a bit out of place, but Prowl never commented on it so maybe it was something different. And getting back to Blaster's experience, if it hadn't been for Wheeljack's explosion, everyone'd know by now that Prowl was on med-leave. So then Blaster'd be wondering why Prime'd told Jazz to head back to make him work. And Ratchet'd be throwing fits at both of them for ignoring his orders. So where's the advantage to Jazz in setting that up?"

Mirage looked at the younger spy and nodded slowly.

"Very well, you've convinced me there's something here. Where do you want to start?"


	11. Awakenings

Optimus entered the repair bay, noting that it was empty of everyone except First Aid and the two patients. The medic must have dismissed his helpers for this, he mused, quite possibly because of his own uncertainty. The poor mech was clearly thrown with his new knowledge that Wheeljack was Ratchet's lover, having never dealt with paired mechs as critically injured patients before, and that was why Optimus was here now; he had volunteered to talk to Wheeljack about what had happened so that First Aid would have some authority behind his orders

It was an odd situation, and one that he had never experienced with Ratchet - that mech had always acted with all the authority of Primus himself, regardless of the situation - and Optimus found himself missing that surety acutely. Which only served to strengthen his resolve to assist in any way he could. Wheeljack had to be made to understand that his personal feelings had to be set aside for awhile; the important thing was saving Ratchet.

"Ready?" First Aid checked, looking nervous.

"Ready. Bring him back online."

First Aid entered some commands into the keypad, sending impulses through to Wheeljack's CPU. The offline mech shifted slightly, optics lighting up, then abruptly lurched upwards.

"Ratchet! Prime? Where is he?"

"Easy, Wheeljack." Optimus urged pushing him gently back down. "Take a minute to orient yourself."

"Is he alright? Where is he? Why isn't he here? Oh Primus, is he...?"

"He's in stasis." First Aid told him. "But he's stable and now you're online again we can start sorting him out."

"Do you remember what happened?" Prime asked.

Wheeljack's optics were still searching the ceiling as though he expected Ratchet to appear, but after a few clicks he focused.

"What?"

"Do you remember where you were?"

The inventor stared at him.

"Where I... I... We were in my lab. But Ratchet...?"

"Tell the events in order. What were you doing in your lab?"

"I was... working on a new formula for the mortar cannons."

"With Ratchet?" Optimus asked, surprised.

The medic understood the necessity of building weapons, and had even insisted on personally fitting them to every Autobot he could get his hands on early in the war, but he had strong views on ranged weapons or anything that could cause collateral damage. They had had many heated exchanges over the vorns about the actual necessity of using mortars and mines and missiles, and the medic remained stubbornly unconvinced.

"No. He was in recharge. Doesn't like to use his quarters for recharge during the day because he thinks he'll be disturbed so he comes to the lab sometimes and... oh, Primus, the _shelf!_ It collapsed!"

"That was before the explosion?" First Aid asked, sounding excited. "So he was in recharge when it happened?"

"That's important?" Optimus checked, noting the relief on his acting-CMO's faceplate.

"Yes! If he was in recharge, his CPU would be in standby anyway. The fewer functions running at the time, the more likely he won't suffer any major memory or function loss. This is the best news possible!"

Optimus looked down at Wheeljack, who did not seem to have heard First Aid's pronouncement.

"I was trying to get to him, but I couldn't." the inventor muttered. "I dropped the beaker and everything exploded, but I was okay. I just had to get to him. Did I get to him? I don't remember..."

"Both of you are safe now." Optimus told him firmly. "And we are hoping you will both be back on your feet shortly. In the meantime, First Aid is my acting Chief Medical Officer, and I expect..."

"First Aid! But..."

"I expect you to follow all of his orders appropriately. If you don't, I'll have you barred from this bay - do you understand?"

Wheeljack looked rebellious, but eventually nodded.

"Yes."

"Good. First Aid, you can begin on your examination now."

He moved to lean against a nearby wall, folding his arms. The medic hesitated.

"You're going to stay, sir?"

Optimus nodded. His presence would keep others out, and Wheeljack in line. Besides, he had no interest in any other work at the moment, and Prowl could handle anything that needed doing; perhaps it would keep him from bickering with Jazz if he were busier.

"Carry on."

* * *

There were times, Trailbreaker considered as he accepted another cube of the twins' illicit high-grade, when being considered semi-officer rank came in handy. Like when everyone wanted to know whether or not Wheeljack had pulled through okay. First Aid had dismissed his helpers and Prowl had cleared the halls around the repair bay of everyone except the officers. With Jazz, Prowl and Red Alert on watch not even Mirage had gotten close enough to learn anything. But when the Chinese diplomat called and wanted to speak to Prowl they had been left short-handed, and Trailbreaker had been asked to take his place. Thus he had been in the right place at the right time to catch Prime's officers briefing, and thus he was able to be here now selling his precious data to Smokescreen.

Wheeljack was safely online and would be completely functional after some follow-up surgery. That was the good news. The bad news - for Wheeljack, in any case - was that First Aid did not want to spend time on what was essentially cosmetic work now that the inventor was stable. Instead, he wanted to focus on bringing Ratchet out of stasis as soon as possible to determine how much damage there really was. Wheeljack had apparently agreed fully with this plan, and the attempt would be made later in the evening, during fourth shift.

"Okay." Smokescreen considered. "So they're confident enough that they're going to invite the assistants - Sides'll be overjoyed, I'm sure - but what if it goes wrong?"

"Far as I can make out, Prime's going to have Ironhide guarding the door to stop anyone spreading bad news before we've got the facts. I got the impression it was Prime's idea to have them there, not First Aid's. Jazz sure gave him a funny look when he suggested it and asked if he was including Perceptor in the group, but I missed the rest because Red Alert sent me away."

Smokescreen shrugged.

"Never mind, we're just lucky you heard what you did. Alright, I figure we've got about a groon before the official announcement - time to start collecting on some bets. I'll bring you your cut later."

"I'm on duty with Prowl."

"Hey don't worry, I'm always discreet. Thanks for the intell, Breaker."

"My pleasure."

* * *

Unscheduled video-conference with the Chinese ambassador over, Prowl arrived back to his office to find Pinpoint hard at work. The mech had been transferred to the _Ark_ in the same batch of new recruits as the Protectobots and had been intended as an assistant to the quartermaster, but the crash had changed all that. He wasn't much of a soldier, and he didn't really fit in to any other teams, but he had administrative skills so Prowl had pulled him in to the tactical office to help with some of the more tedious tasks. He was inexperienced and naive, but eager to learn and willing to get on with tasks, and so far it was working out.

In a year or two he would be ready to take over the rosters and other data work completely, freeing Prowl up to focus purely on the battle tactics which were supposed to be his sole responsibility. He was a little ambivalent about that, wondering how he was going to fill his days when he did no longer had to worry about the clogged energon filters in the rec room or the latest requisitioning botch up or the fourth change in the daily roster since sunrise. Which, specifically, was what his new assistant was currently working on.

"Have you received Jazz's modifications yet?" he asked without preamble, moving over to his own desk.

"Not yet, sir. Do you want me to delay posting the change until we hear from him?"

"No, he's scheduled for recharge now, so perhaps there has been a change in instructions. Send it out."

Quite why Optimus had asked Jazz to rearrange the rosters in the first place was baffling. Certainly the saboteur had done it in the past, but only when Prowl was unavailable. There was certainly something going on between those two at the moment - the tension was nigh on visible at times - and he would ignore it only so far before he gave them both a stern talking-to. Which reminded him of the lecture he had gotten from Optimus not too long ago for the same kind of thing, and _that_ thought reminded him that he still needed to identify the cause of Jazz's interest in Perceptor for himself.

"Pinpoint."

"Yes, sir?"

"Start a data mining search, looking for reports of possible Decepticon activity in the region I'm specifying and during this timeframe."

The green mech began to answer affirmatively, then hesitated.

"Is there a problem?" he asked crisply.

"Uh, sir, isn't this the work that Jazz did already yesterday?"

"Yes. I would like you to do it again now. Thoroughly. Are the instructions unclear?"

"No sir, but Prime..."

"Good, then get on with it. And while Teletran is compiling that, begin making a list of the reasons why Soundwave, Starscream, Skywarp and Thundercracker would be absent from battle."

"But there could be hundreds of reasons!"

He did appreciate that Pinpoint was willing to ask questions - it was important to question. It was, however, also important to know when to stop.

"Thousands, I estimate. Begin. We will start comparing our lists at the beginning of your next shift."

Leaving his subordinate to get on with his task, he began running theories through his own tactical processor and jotting down the likeliest ones. He needed to start planning contingencies.

* * *

**Ratchet?**

He heard the voice calling him. Even recognised it, although he could not bring a name to the top of his processes. But when he tried to respond, his vocaliser only produced a stuttering squeal and a few juddering clicks. He tried to pull up a diagnostic to identify what was wrong, but it was like trying to touch one of Hound's holograms; there was nothing there. An odd sharp pain in his right foot made him flinch, then there was a loud clack by his left audio as though someone had just slapped something down beside him. There was a moment of silence when he wondered if he had just blown a receptor, then suddenly the noise was back.

**Try again now.**

**Ratchet? Talk to me. How're you doing?**

They were talking to him in Cybertronian, he noted, then wondered vaguely what other language he had been expecting. Unable to find a ready answer to that question, he tried to trill out a simple designation query. To his own audios it sounded horribly mangled, but the voices - and there were at least three, now - cheered. Someone hushed them all, and a new voice responded in tones and sonics then returned the query. He struggled to absorb the designation sent to him, the sonics making no sense at all, and latched onto the colloquial designation he had been given. Optimus Prime. The commanding officer, then, though he was having trouble connecting the name to someone he knew.

**...access to that program yet.** another voice was muttering in the background. **Stick to vocalisations. We've almost got the connection cleared.**

**Understood. Ratchet? Can you vocalise your own colloquial designation?**

There were strange things happening to his body, as though someone was tweaking wires at random, but he felt something click into place and finally whistled out his designation, albeit a little shakily.

**Ra-atch-atchet.**

More cheering and he now realised that most of the speech he was hearing was in a language he could not process. But he heard and understood Prime's words.

**Welcome back, my friend. We've missed you.**

**Wh'r beeeeeeneen?** he tried to ask.

It was frustrating that the words were not produced as he wanted.

**Don't worry about that now.** the first voice told him. **What matters is you're back, and we're going to get you right again.**

That was five separate voices now. And perhaps more given the noise in the background. He could feel his circuits start to hurt as he tried to process all of this. What was going on? Why could he not see anything? Why could he not speak? Why was everything so loud and confusing? Something rapped hard against his chestplate, then there was a brief unpleasant buzzing at the back of his neck, then sudden relief from the strange sensations. His body felt heavy and detached, like blockers had been set in place to paralyse him from the neck down. Perhaps they had. Clearly he was injured, it was the only explanation. He did not recall how, but no doubt that would come clear later, all that was important now was getting repaired. But... who was doing the repairs?

**?who?** he sent out urgently, repeating the simple query a little more accurately this time, but not able to enjoy the achievement.

There were several responses, including Prime's, but none of the names meant anything much to him. He needed to hear their full designations - he needed to know who the medics were.

**?who?** he repeated, becoming frantic. _**?who?**_

The confusion in their replies told him they did not understand, and he tried to calm down. Someone had put that block in place. Someone knew enough to do that, so surely they could fix whatever was wrong with him? But... he had been alone for so long. And this was not just a normal injury, not a matter of patch welding. To need a block like this one, the damage must be severe past anyone's abilities but his own. Who was going to be able to help if he was incapacitated? Even as he thought that, he felt someone pushing a set of command lines through. They were putting him offline, probably because he was hysterical. He tried to fight it, but the protections that were normally there were absent, and everything went dark.

* * *

Sideswipe could not wait any longer. From the moment that he heard Ratchet wheeze out that broken query, he had known it was all going to be fine. Yes, there was a lot further to go, but he was still with them. He still recognised his name, he could talk even when First Aid had warned that he might be incoherent, and he was going to be back on his feet and yelling at them in no time at all.

Grateful that his position as a temporary medic had allowed him to be present for the awakening, he decided that it was time to leave before someone thought to give him something to do. They would not need him now anyway, and the rest would be boring - they had planned various tests to run which should take hours to complete. In the meantime, he could go and enjoy a few cups of high-grade in celebration.

Arriving, he tried to keep them guessing. He had been told that his appearance the other day had been impressive, but this time they were waiting for him and he paused for a moment to build the drama, then could not hold it in any more.

"He's awake!"

The cheer was deafening, and he accepted the mug someone handed to him, drinking half its contents in one gulp.

"He's properly online?"

"I thought it was going to be orns yet?"

"Wasn't that pretty quick?"

Sideswipe shrugged.

"You know Ratchet - nothing keeps him down. He's pretty groggy, First Aid was right about that. And they've got almost all of his systems offline: his main mem-banks, all his specialty processes, even his optics! But he can hear us alright, and he can talk a bit. Not very well, yet, but he will. It's more than Aid said he'd do yet."

"Here's to Ratchet!"

"I'll drink to that!"


	12. Setbacks and frustrations

Optimus broke the awkward silence that followed Ratchet being put forcibly back offline, his gaze taking in all of the others present.

"Wait here and keep everyone else out. First Aid, come with me."

He led the medic back through to Ratchet's office then shut the door.

"Is Wheeljack right?" he asked quietly.

First Aid shuddered.

"I... I don't know, sir. I don't think so. He shouldn't be in pain, but I really don't know enough about these kinds of injuries..."

Optimus turned back towards the view port to look out at the ward beyond, wondering what would happen next and how his soldiers would cope with this setback.

Everyone was looking forward to good news when Ratchet was brought back online, and the signs had all been so very positive up until now. Positive enough that First Aid had even suggested that his group of helpers were welcome to be present for this first stage.

It had been a slow onlining process, and First Aid had cautioned them over and over that Ratchet would be groggy; most of the medic's systems were manually blocked, so he would be disoriented and perhaps a little incoherent to start with. Wheeljack had stationed himself beside Ratchet's head, holding his hand and calling to him for almost a breem before the first reaction, a slight twitch. Then had come the garbled whistling from his vocaliser which proved he was truly online. First Aid had immediately begun adjusting some of the restrictions to make it easier for the other mech to speak, but the small change had put him offline again for awhile and they had had to start the process over.

Half a breem in, Wheeljack had started complaining in English that it was not working and that he wanted to try something else. Ironhide had tried to reason with him, and First Aid had shyly asked Optimus to take over talking to Ratchet in Cybertronian since his was a voice the medic would probably recognise.

It had been a wonderful moment when Ratchet had finally responded in mangled but still comprehensible tones.

Encouraged by the progress, they had tried to coax more words out of the patient. It had taken time, but Ratchet had begun responding coherently, his words becoming better formed as he went on.

Then it had all gone wrong. Up to that point, Optimus had paid little attention to the small twitches and flinches, but Wheeljack suddenly started demanding that First Aid apply a full body block, that there was too much pain. First Aid argued that it was just natural delayed reaction to the trauma and that the existing blocks were sufficient, but Wheeljack had shoved the acting-CMO aside and put the block in place himself. For a second it appeared to work, then Ratchet became highly agitated and no longer heeded their responses to his increasingly frantic and insistent questions. His words then degenerated into the mindless keening of a distressed sparkling, the sound grating painfully on all their audio receptors until First Aid had put him back offline.

"You did not approve of the additional block." he asked the medic while still staring out into the ward. "Why not?"

First Aid shifted uncomfortably behind him.

"I'm probably wrong, sir. I really don't..."

"I didn't ask you to second-guess yourself. I want to know your reasons."

"Well... Ratchet told me you should never use more blocks than you absolutely need to. Even if it means a bit of pain gets through, it's better than cutting everything off completely because it keeps the patient grounded. And since all pain is actually processed by the CPU, and it was only his head that was actually damaged, there wasn't any point cutting off his senses to the rest of his body."

"Then you had good reason to deny the request." Optimus nodded.

"I guess. But he could be right, too. At least... With all the damage, even with how careful we were with what we reactivated and what we didn't, he's probably feeling phantom pain in his limbs. That's why he keeps flinching even when no-one's touching him. The trauma on its own could be making him feel things that aren't really there. So he _could_ be in pain, in _severe_ pain, it's just that we can't do a lot about it because there's nothing physical to fix..."

"Or to block." Optimus frowned. "So what effect did the block have?"

"I don't really know..."

"What would you guess?"

There was a pause, then the medic responded quietly.

"He panicked. When he realised he wasn't getting any responses from his body, he must've thought it was because he had sustained serious damage. He doesn't know what happened to him, so from his perspective it's possible half his body was blown away, or worse. And because we've turned off his diagnostics, he can't check, but at least he could feel his limbs were there. Once that block was in place, he might've thought..."

Optimus shuttered his optics for a second, all too able to imagine what Ratchet would have thought, then opened them again and turned around to face the miserable medic.

"You've done very good work, First Aid. Truly. What happened here was unfortunate, but we'll learn from this. Remove the block, then we'll try again. I'll speak to Wheeljack."

"I could be wrong, though..."

"I trust you. Trust yourself."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Prowl stepped out of his office and down towards his quarters with a steady stride. Most of those not currently on duty were lurking around the rec room waiting for Sideswipe to bring them the news about Ratchet, but Jazz had proclaimed his faith in the outcome and headed to his recharge berth twenty minutes ago. Long enough for him to finally have slowed his systems enough to rest, but not likely enough to see him disturbed from full recharge which made it the perfect moment to interrupt him and have a chat in totally secure surroundings.

It made no sense then, to arrive to find the lights on full with music blaring from the speakers and Jazz hunched over a datapad. Reflexively Prowl cut the output to the speakers, and Jazz looked up belatedly as though he had only just noticed him, which was pure nonsense.

"Oh, is it that time already?" the visored mech asked.

Prowl shook his head, moving straight to his desk and beginning an upload to his datapad.

"No, I just need these files. I thought you'd be in recharge."

"Yeah, well I just can't seem t'settle. Guess I need to hear the good word first after all, huh? Any word yet?"

The computer bleeped as it finished the upload, and Prowl double-checked the content.

"Not so far, but then they expected it to be as much as an hour before we would hear, and it has only been thirty-two minutes. If you're not going to recharge, you should probably go and wait with the others; I'm off-duty soon, and I need to get some reports written so you won't be getting any rest here then."

Jazz sighed dramatically, turning off his datapad and stretching.

"You do have an office for that kind of thing, you know."

"My office is under surveillance, as you well know." Prowl shot back. "Ratchet may currently be incapacitated, but his orders still stand and Red Alert will take far too much pleasure in pointing that out if I am seen to spend too much time in there."

Jazz snorted, clearly enjoying the inventive excuse, and dropped the datapad onto Prowl's desk, carelessly knocking several others out of their neatly placed positions.

"There's that little rebellious streak again, Prowl. I tolja, I'm _finally_ starting to have an effect on you."

"Don't be ridiculous. And don't clutter my desk with your pads."

"I'm not, that's yours now. I just finished sorting out the rest of the roster Prime wanted. You've just got your side to do, and we're done. I'm off to the rec room. See ya."

Taking the time to glare after him, Prowl snatched up the discarded item then carefully re-stacked the rest of his pads neatly before turning on his heel and shutting the door behind him and locking it, unamused by the entire farce.

~So.~ he commented across a private comm line as he headed down the corridor in the opposite direction to his bondmate. ~Was that Mirage in there, or just a camera?~

~Potentially both.~ Jazz sighed. ~He's definitely there, though he's been careful not to move so much as an optic shutter the entire time.~

~Should I bother asking why your staff are spying on you?~

~In-house matter. I'll deal with it.~

~Make sure you do. You need your rest. And we need to talk.~

~Later.~ Jazz agreed. ~We'll figure it out.~

* * *

When Optimus had taken First Aid into the office, Ironhide had dragged Wheeljack to the other end of the bay to the small quarantine room and shut the door.

"What in the name of Primus do you think you're doing?" he growled.

Wheeljack glared at him.

"Me? What are _you_ doing? I need to be back out there."

"He's offline - he doesn't need you now. What was all that, arguing with First Aid?"

"Isn't it obvious? He was going to let Ratchet blow his last remaining fuses if he didn't sort out those pain relays!"

Ironhide put his hands on his hips.

"So you said, but then why'd it get _worse_ after you did what you did?"

"It didn't."

"Like pit it didn't. The kid needs your help, Jack, not an argument. He's the medic here."

"He's only a trainee..."

"And you're only an engineer. Slag it all, Jack, there's a difference and even the Cons know that. Most've us can weld a patch or splice a line, but it takes a proper medic to get it all running _right_. And he _is_ a medic. Sure, he's got plenty to learn, but he's also designed for it. You think he'd let anyone sit there on his repair bed in pain if he could stop it?"

"Then why didn't he?" Wheeljack railed, throwing up his hands.

"I don't know. And neither do you. But what I _do_ know is that things got a pit of a lot worse after you did your little job with the block an' I don't _ever_ wanna see you do that again cause it looked to me like _you_ were the one who was..." He broke off quickly as he heard the door open. "Optimus. What's the word?"

The Prime looked at him, his expression blank.

"Will you excuse us, Hide? I need to talk to Wheeljack. Alone."

"Sure thing."

Closing the door behind himself, Ironhide looked around the bay. Huffer was monitoring the equipment around Ratchet; Hoist was talking softly to Perceptor. First Aid was still out of sight, probably still in the office. His gaze landed on Ratchet and he grimaced. He was not sure when exactly Sideswipe had left, but he thought it had been before it all went wrong. Well that was that, then: the frontliner would just have to stay out permanently now.

* * *

Jazz did stop by the rec room long enough to hear the celebrating, but then decided he needed some fresh air. Everything was too restrictive at the moment, and he needed some freedom. Nodding vaguely to a hostile Gears and a miserably silent Bluestreak as he went out - Primus, who had thought to put those two together on gate duty? - he transformed and headed down the road.

So much was happening at the moment. Setting aside the whole emotional aspect there was the fact that their chief medic was potentially slagged. That was not good from a strategic viewpoint. His replacement was inadequately trained and would probably go into fits if he ever got his hands on Ratchet's notes.

On top of that, Prowl had suddenly become fixated on the idea that the Decepticons were up to the most sophisticated plot they had managed in vorns. Their argument in the command centre had started off partly as the normal dissembling to keep others from querying the amount of time they spent together, small as it was, but had devolved into a genuine argument over this supposed 'third target'. Jazz had megavorns of experience as a spy and saboteur, and he could see no evidence of any such thing in the logs they kept of Decepticon transmissions and movements. It did not fit with the pattern of the recent Decepticon attacks, and they had no reason to think that anything had changed. Prowl's outright dismissal of his opinion hurt, and he had been relieved when they were forcibly separated. Neither of them had raised the issue since.

He had hoped to talk it out with Prowl after his recharge, but when he arrived in his room he had immediately realised that he was not alone. Which meant the act had to continue. It also meant he could not afford to go into recharge either; he simply wouldn't be able to charge with someone else in the room. As he could have predicted, Prowl found an excuse to 'interrupt' his recharge, but rather than clearing things up they had ended up having to continue playing the game.

At least Prowl had immediately picked up on something being wrong and acted appropriately, or they could be in an even bigger mess than they already were.

Why, Jazz wondered angrily as he increased his speed. Why was Mirage spying on him? Yes, he knew his specialists were annoyed about Prime's orders, but how did that translate into him being targeted? Usually Mirage would go and sulk, and Bumblebee would search out the company of his friends. It was definitely Mirage, today, but this scenario was purely Bumblebee; he would stake his energon ration on it. He knew the little scout was upset by the disruption to his schedules, but why was he taking it so hard and how had he managed to convince Mirage to help him with it? This was just a short term inconvenience, did it really make that much of a difference? And why would they stoop to something so petty? Unless they suspected something. But what?

The problem was not so much that he had no idea; the problem was that there were too many options, and most of them led back to the basic problem of him and Prowl. Had they figured it out? Not the bonding, no they would not have gotten that far without him knowing, but even just a suspicion that he and Prowl were lovers had its risks because it could lead to them being targetted even more by the enemy.

Or was he overreacting and were they just trying to 'protect' him, angry at Prowl's outburst earlier? That sort of thing had happened before.

He smiled to himself, remembering previous attempts by others to 'save' him from the 'sparkless' tactician. Playing the martyr had always been fun. His smile dropped away as he sensed a jet approaching and he began to cycle up his weapons system, then he realised it was Silverbolt.

~Hiya. How're the skies today?~

~Clear. Where are you going?~

~Just out for a stretch, it was gettin' tough wit' everyone cooped up in there.~

There was a pause.

~You know Prime has set a boundary. I can't let you cross it without reporting it to him.~

Jazz slowed, dismayed. It had never occurred to him that the restriction affected him too. Usually Prime's officers were exempt from such things, though they were expected to lead by example wherever possible. Dredging up some good humour that he was no longer feeling, he responded casually.

~Sure, I know that. I'm just goin' as far as the ridge, then I'll follow it along to the gully and head back.~

~Of course.~ Silverbolt responded, clearly relieved. ~Mind if I tag along?~

~Not at all.~ Jazz lied.

Of course, it was not the Aerialbot's fault. His team had been ordered to monitor every bot who left the _Ark_. Jazz wondered bitterly if the restriction applied to Optimus himself.

~We've already had a bit of trouble with some others.~ Silverbolt confessed. ~Including one of your team, actually.~

~Really? Who? Mirage?~

~No, Hound. He and Beachcomber keep sneaking over to that organic growth area Carly was working on.~

~I'll have a word to him, he won't do it again.~

~I'd appreciate it.~

He drove on a bit further, then turned onto the side path to keep to his stated itinerary.

~Have you heard the word 'bout the Hatchet?~ he asked.

~Not yet. There's been news?~

~Sideswipe says he's back online an' talkin'. Not shoutin' yet, but that'll probably come next.~

The jet swooped to his right abruptly as Silverbolt checked out something further away, then drifted back towards him.

~I didn't see the injury, but I heard there was damage to his CPU. It can't have been so bad, then. Mechs always exaggerate.~

~Yeah.~ Jazz agreed vaguely, knowing it was important to keep morale up, and that the Aerialbots were really too young to truly grasp the implications of what was going on. ~Sounds like he'll be just fine.~

~Good.~

Prime pinged him and he accepted the call.

~Jazz. My office. Now.~

~On my way.~

Cutting that line, he finished his call with Silverbolt.

~Sorry, Bolt, I gotta dash. Prime wants me.~

~Fair enough. Thanks for letting me know about Ratchet.~

The Aerialbot signed off and increased his altitude, but Jazz knew he was being followed all the way back to the _Ark_. It was just the way the flier was.


	13. Fraying tempers

Waiting for Jazz never improved Optimus's mood.

As much as he enjoyed the other mech's casual nature in other circumstances - and so often he truly did - when it came to performing his role as a sober and reliable officer, Jazz could try the patience of Primus. In an emergency he was lightning quick, on the spot, right where he needed to be. Any other time it almost seemed like a game to delay just long enough to irritate without being quite long enough to be charged with insubordination, and this time seemed no exception. A full twenty minutes passed between the brief summons and when Jazz appeared at the door and Optimus glared at him as he sauntered in with a cheery wave.

"So what's up, boss bot?"

"Where have you been?"

"Out for a drive." Jazz shrugged, grabbing a stool nd perching on it. "Silverbolt was keeping me company."

"And Mirage?"

"He wasn't wit' me if that's what ya mean."

"He's not in his quarters, nor in the rec room, nor on lookout duty where he is rostered to be. Where is he?"

"He won't be far. I ordered him to stay on base an' he wouldn't leave without lettin' me know. Maybe he missed seein' the new schedule an' thought it was a rest break?"

Optimus had known Jazz for a long time; for nearly as long as he had been Prime, in fact. He liked the smaller mech and he knew Jazz was loyal to the cause, but he also knew the entire ops branch were slipperier than energon goodies covered in oil and they were _always_ up to something. Most of the time he turned a blind optic to it all, but right now too much was spiralling out of control.

"I'm losing patience with this, Jazz. I want Mirage here on comm duty every second shift from now on. When he's off duty, he's to be in his quarters or in the rec room. Nowhere else. Is that understood? I do not need any new crises to handle, and these 'quiet' missions your staff get involved in usually mean injuries. We do not have the capacity to deal with any more injuries, and I do not want to lose any of my soldiers to wounds that could have been avoided. No more bending the rules. Get your team under control."

Jazz's customary smile had dropped away, and he nodded stiffly.

"I'll talk to'em."

"Be sure that you don't push me on this today, Jazz, or I'll have the lot of you thrown in the brig just so I know where you are."

That drew a startled look from his officer, but there was also acknowledgment that he was serious and that was what Optimus needed to see. Which meant he could move on to the next topic.

"Now. What was going on between you and Prowl yesterday? Half the _Ark_ is still buzzing with it, even if the two of you seem to have patched things up."

Jazz looked briefly irritated before he schooled his expression.

With anyone else that would be telling. With Jazz, it could be a manufactured response. Optimus could never be sure and it was always safer to assume the latter.

"He's convinced that the Decepticons attacked three targets yesterday, not just two." his Third responded.

That tallied up with what others had overheard, but it was still quite a reach. Then again, Prowl was not likely to fixate on an idea without some solid evidence.

"What does he base that on?"

"He claims the fact'ry attack was just s'posed t'draw a reaction, otherwise they woulda done less damage and taken more stock before you lot turned up. An' he claims that the attack here was the same, otherwise they woulda sent more'n just Devastator. He thinks there's somethin' else, more important, an' that Soundwave an' Screamer's trine were sent after it."

Optimus raised an optic ridge. He had noticed Soundwave and Starscream's absence, but not that Skywarp and Thundercracker were also missing. That did make it more ominous.

And there was merit in Prowl's suggestion that the Decepticons should have been further along in their raid than they had been by the time the Autobots arrived. And that if the attack on the _Ark_ had been a serious one there should have been more than the Constructicons involved. After all, normally there would have been more than a dozen mechs protecting the _Ark_ , including at least one gestalt and probably the Dinobots too. Unless the Decepticons knew about the accident.

Still, if they had known, why had they not sent more to the _Ark_? They could not have predicted he would leave the _Ark_ vulnerable. And what of Megatron's taunts about being too late?

"You do not agree with this logic?" he asked curiously.

The annoyance that flashed across Jazz's faceplate looked genuine.

"Oh it's logical enough, he's the logic bot I'll never argue _that_. But there just ain't no evidence of any other attack. None. An' the plan's too complicated. We all know Megatron usually likes t'pick one target an' hit hard. Even goin' for two ain't that common.

"Besides, what sort of target could he take out with a single trine an' Soundwave? From what I've heard, all o'the cassettes were at the factory, so this third team woulda been under-strength. Starscream's trine don't do quiet ops, they ain't got the patience for it let alone the ability t'keep their mouths shut, so does that mean Soundwave infiltrated somewhere on his own without even Ravage or Laserbeak to back him up? Nah, wouldn't happen. He's too cautious for that.

"Fact is, Prime, I dunno where they all were. Maybe they were all takin' some time on the beach or sulkin' because of the last time we kicked their afts or facin' each other senseless, but they _weren't_ anywhere we know about. _I_ don't know and since you've tied up my team here at base I can't find out, either."

Amd there it was. Optimus had wondered how long it would take to get around to that point. He had not known the rest of the details, but he had been sure Jazz would turn the explanation into some kind of compelling argument to release the strictures placed on his operatives. If he had not been prepared for it, the impassioned speech may even have swayed him. Instead, it coloured the whole argument as a carefully crafted piece of rhetoric and reminded him that Jazz's specialty was in twisting the truth and finding loopholes.

Thank Primus the mech was on his side.

"We will find out in time. For now I want you and Prowl to make sure that others observe the two of you interacting appropriately. I will talk to Prowl about dropping this investigation until we have sorted out the current issue with Ratchet."

Jazz focused sharply on him.

"I'd heard he was online an' talking."

Optimus shook his head.

"It started promisingly, but did not continue to progress that way. Wheeljack became agitated by what he perceived as the wrong treatment, and decided to override First Aid's judgement. His... interference... may have done additional damage, though First Aid is not yet sure. He is giving Ratchet some time to rest before trying again.

"If Sideswipe had been there when it happened it would likely be all over the ship by now, which would not help anyone; as it is, we have a small window of opportunity to get this sorted out before anyone realises that there is a problem. I need your team reinforcing that image. In the meantime First Aid wants to speak to you. Why, he did not say, but I suspect it is to do with Ratchet's files."

"Wait a sec, boss, just what'd Jack do? I can't see'im doin' anythin' to hurt Ratchet, he loves the mech!"

Optimus sighed.

"There was a disagreement over pain blockers, and Wheeljack insisted on having his way. The result was unpleasant. But that is classified information: I do not need any rumours circulating that Wheeljack made things worse. He's in his quarters to rest, and he's not to be disturbed. I trust that that will be the story everyone knows."

Jazz nodded.

"Course. I'll see to it. So does First Aid want me now?"

"He said it was not urgent, but make yourself available to him. And get Mirage back where I can see him. And stop arguing with Prowl."

Jazz grinned cheekily, back to his usual insouciant self.

"Will do, chief. Anythin' else?"

Primus save him from strangling this bot.

"Stay out of trouble!"

* * *

Wheeljack fidgeted, unable to stay still but too uncomfortable to pace for very long. He didn't have to be that way, First Aid had been keen to ensure he was pain-free, but he had been more interested in getting Ratchet awake. His pains were nothing until he could talk to Ratchet and apologise for what had happened.

His CPU kept replaying the moment that the shelf had collapsed. Ratchet had grumbled so many times over the last few weeks about the stupidity of overloading the storage space, and had warned of dire consequences if anything fell on him during one of his naps. Well now it had, and it had been far worse than Wheeljack could have imagined. A simple collapse would have been shrugged off so easily: the medic would have been slightly dented and very cross. But instead Ratchet had nearly been killed, was still in such an awful condition, and it was all his fault.

Shuddering, Wheeljack ignored the pulling of the temporary plating in his side and curled up tightly on his recharge berth. His empty recharge berth. Would it be empty from now on? He had no doubt that Ratchet would survive this: the stubborn old mech could not be taken down so easily, especially with everyone relying on him the way they did. So Ratchet would return to the Autobots, whole and grumpy and unbreakable as ever. But that did not mean that he would return to Wheeljack, that was another matter entirely.

It was not like the medic had ever said he loved him, he fretted. Getting Ratchet to just recharge in his presence had taken vorns of patient arguing, and even now he tended to return to his own quarters to rest after they interfaced. The medic was oddly chary of intimacy, and this would set them back again.

Wheeljack's feelings for Ratchet had built up over time, and it had caught him by surprise the first time he realised that he wanted more from their interactions than just friendship. Having realised it, though, he accepted it without question. He wanted no-one else and was willing to do whatever it took to convice the other mech of his sincerity. Which proved far more difficult to do than he might have imagined.

Initially the medic had taken his expressions of love as a joke. Then, when he persisted, had flatly turned him down. It was not shyness - Ratchet was never that - and nor was it prudishness - the CMO had had various lovers over the vorns, and had made no secret of it - but no real explanation was ever tendered. When he did finally consent to interfacing he had not been hesitant, nor had it felt like it was forced, but still he remained aloof at all other times and he flatly refused to take the next step to spark energy sharing.

Wheeljack had accepted what Ratchet was willing to give, certain that eventually he would find a way to break through and win the other mech's trust. Yet had he just lost that chance forever? Ratchet could hold a grudge even longer than Sunstreaker and he had never been that keen on the relationship to begin with.

Slag it all to the pit, he _had_ to talk this out with him. That was why he had used the pain blocker, to clear Ratchet's processor long enough to talk. But it had all gone horribly wrong, and he had no idea why.

He knew that First Aid had not wanted him to do it, but the trainee was barely more of a medic than he was and with far less experience. It should have worked. Shut down the input feeds and everything should settle, that was how engineering worked, so why had Ratchet become hysterical?

It made no sense that he could build a frame from nothing at all - as he had with the Dinobots - and yet once they were sparked he no longer understood how their systems worked. Drones worked exactly as you built them, but use that same design for a mech and you could get all kinds of illogical responses. That was what made medics so special. They understood those illogical systems, and could get them to do what they should.

Medics. Ratchet. He had to talk to him. It was all as simple as that - he had to apologise, and beg for forgiveness. He had to have Ratchet back. He loved him too much to be able to bear the separation for long.

* * *

Summoned to Jazz's office for the second time that day, Bumblebee was a little surprised to see not only Hound but also Smokescreen and Trailbreaker already assembled there. The latter two were officially Prowl's staff, though they also occasionally helped out with operations in the field. It was the sort of group meeting that usually preceded a major mission, but hadn't they just been told that all missions were off for now? He nearly made a light-sparked comment about what was coming up when he registered Jazz's glower from behind the desk and made a quick switch.

"Uh, am I late?" he asked, going for the charming cuteness that got him out of trouble with most mechs.

No-one here was impressed by the act, least of all the CSO.

"Not as late as Mirage." Jazz informed him shortly.

Bumblebee tried to hide his nervousness under that steely gaze, wondering if Jazz already knew what they were up to and was about to bust them before they'd learned anything at all. Not that there was anything new in that. Yet why would it make Jazz so angry and why involve everyone else?

Bumblebee had been supposed to rendezvous with Mirage ten minutes ago, but the spy had never turned up. Nor had he gone to his rostered duty station, so Bumblebee had covered for him in the hope of meeting up with him there. But then Optimus had come to the lookout wanting to speak to Mirage and he had seemed very displeased to find Bumblebee there instead. Prime had tried to get Bumblebee to admit that Jazz had asked him to cover for the absent spy, but the cute act had made him desist and he had headed off. And now Jazz had called them all here.

Where _was_ Mirage?, he wondered They had split their two targets between them: him monitoring Prowl from his duty on the comm station in the Command Centre (swapped with Fireflight who had been more than happy to rejoin his brothers in the skies); Mirage watching Jazz.

It should have been easy work: Jazz would either have gone to the rec room to be with the others waiting for news, or to his quarters to rest. A novice could have managed that task, let alone someone of Mirage's calibre. While waiting for the spy to appear he had rationalised that Jazz had probably caught him and set him on a different task, but that did not explain Jazz's impatience now.

Finally after two breems of waiting Jazz stalked to the door and locked it - using the totally unnecessary motion to heighten the tension quite effectively - then turned back to look at each of them in turn. Only when he was done, with no indication if he had found what he was looking for, did he return to his position behind his desk and glare at them.

"This is gonna stop. Right now." he growled, none of his usual humour in his tone. "The last two days've been stressful enough, I don't need to be worryin' about you lot actin' like a bunch of rank amateurs!"

Hound, Trailbreaker and Smokescreen all looked completely surprised and perplexed by this sudden outburst, Bumblebee noted, but then that hardly meant anything. His own expression mirrored theirs, but they were all fairly good at hiding the truth when they wanted to. Perhaps it had not been a good idea to do this right now, after all.

"Hound." Jazz snapped suddenly. "You were told not to wander, but I've heard from Silverbolt that you and Beachcomber crossed the boundary repeatedly to continue checking on the garden Carly set up."

"The plants needed watering." Hound protested. "We weren't..."

Jazz was not listening.

"Trailbreaker. Blockin' the cameras in the hangar bay so Warpath could brawl wit' Sunstreaker."

Bumblebee frowned, ready to protest. Sunstreaker hated being confined, and was spoiling for a fight while waiting for his twin to come out with some news, and Warpath was always up for a round and was tough enough to take it. And as for blocking the camera, well that was common enough down there and the officers usually turned a blind optic to it so long as no-one ended up off the duty roster. Jazz had even done it himself, now and again.

"How much damage did they do to each other?" Jazz was continuing icily. "And which of'em broke an energon line? You thought no-one would find out? What part of this situation do you not understand: _we don't have any medics to spare for minor repairs_! An' Smokey. The less said about what _you_ were doin' earlier, the better. It stops. Now. Right?"

The psychologist quailed, shuffling back a few steps, and nodded hurriedly. Jazz glared at him a moment longer, then turned to the last mech in the room.

"Bumblebee."

The scout braced himself for whatever was coming. He didn't know specifically what the mech had on him, but he did know he'd been doing all sorts of things that weren't part of their brief right now. But Jazz just looked at him for a long moment before shaking his head and looking back at the others.

"I've just come from Prime's office where he pretty much tore off my spoiler for not keeping you lot in line. An' he's slaggin' serious about it. He's threatened to throw all of ya in the brig if _any_ of you step out of line again before Ratchet's back on his pedes, an' prob'ly me in along wit' ya! Now I dunno what's set him off, but he's convinced we're running a class 1 op under his nose and he wants it stopped. I can't tell him we're not, I'd tell'im that even if we were an' he knows it, so he won't ask and he wouldn't believe me if he did. He just wants to be able to see that we're all here, one hundred percent visible until this situation ends.

"So that's our mission. From this moment on, you're gonna be as visible as you can get. The more mechs around you, the better. When you recharge, do it wit' your current sparkmate, or at least in your own quarters where you can be found if Prime decides to go lookin' for you. Which he prob'ly will.

"Do your own shifts, and then either volunteer for extra duty on anythin' _other_ 'n patrol or go to the rec room where you can be seen. Don't even go to the washracks on your own, and for pit's sake don't decide you need some space. This is a mission, and you're gonna handle it professionally. All of you know your roles. Which leaves us with only one problem: _Where is Mirage?_ "

Bumblebee winced as his boss bellowed straight at him.

"I don't know. He was supposed to meet me before his shift on the lookout started."

Jazz stared at him again, his expression neither accusing nor disbelieving, just focused, and Bumblebee squirmed.

"Didn't you see him?" he tried.

Jazz's glare intensified, then he waved a hand at the group without shifting his gaze.

"You lot, out. You've got your orders. Bee, stay right there."

The others filed out of the room, none of them looking back, and the door was closed. Then, just as he expected to be either lectured or interrogated, Jazz made an audible comm connection.

"Jazz to Prowl."

There was a pause of nearly twenty clicks before the response came.

"Prowl here."

"Where are ya?"

"In our quarters, where I told you I would be. Has something happened?"

"I need that roster back." Jazz said lightly, his voice not betraying his dark expression at all. "Prime wants me to change it again."

"Then come and get it." Prowl suggested reasonably. "It's still here on my desk where you left it, I haven't had time to work on it yet."

"I gotta talk to First Aid." Jazz argued. "I'll send Bee for it."

The suggestion seemed to surprise the SIC.

"Bumblebee? Jazz, why...?"

"He'll be along in a minute. Thanks Prowl."

Jazz cut the connection, then glowered up at Bumblebee.

"Right. Now why don't you tell me how Raj ended up locked in wit' Prowl in _my_ room. An' make it snappy; Prowler don't like t'be kept waitin'."


	14. Weathering the storm

Optimus opened his office door intending to tell Trailbreaker he was going out for a drive, but the tall black mech who was usually on duty at this time of the day was nowhere to be seen. Instead he found Warpath trying to hold back a furious and muddy Tracks; Seaspray and Cosmos arguing loudly with Air Raid; and Beachcomber dozing off at the comm panel.

"What is going on here?" he demanded.

His words startled Beachcomber who fell out of his chair onto Air Raid's foot, causing him to stumble backwards into Tracks who crashed to the floor, splattering mud all over the sensitive control panels. The noise brought several others running, adding to the confusion and he was about to bellow for silence when someone loomed over him.

"Omega Supreme?"

Since when did the former Guardian actually enter the control room, and... how exactly had he gotten here? Usually he stuck to the larger corridors and rooms around the cargo holds. To get here he must have had to almost crawl!

"This duty is unnecessary. I will not remain here."

"Here? By here you mean in this room...?" he began, confused.

"Prime! Prime, something's got to be done about this." Red Alert insisted, dashing up to him. "The roster is insane: I'm _not_ having a Dinobot watching the security cameras!"

"The roster? That's what this is about?"

"Of course! Clearly Jazz is behind the whole thing - I've told you before he's untrustworthy, always sneaking about and breaking rules, and now he's driven poor Prowl mad. You'll have to do something."

Optimus was tempted to point out that at least two thirds of the crew had concerns about Red Alert's own sanity, but that would not help. Besides which, Jazz _was_ supposed to have changed the roster. He didn't think the mech would have deliberately sabotaged the _Ark_ crew's ability to function, but his idea of what might boost morale didn't always match with Optimus's own.

"It's not Jazz's fault, it's Prowl's." Cliffjumper argued back at Red Alert. "He's the one who's burned out his chips - have you _seen_ Jazz lately, he looks like he hasn't charged in orns! Stress, I'm telling you, and if it doesn't get sorted then one of them'll kill the other, you wait and see."

"It might be better if they weren't sharing quarters." Cosmos considered. "Jazz did look tired when I saw him, and we wouldn't like an accident to happen."

"Or an 'on purpose'." Red Alert said darkly. "Never underestimate what that mech is capable of."

"Alright, that's enough." Optimus interrupted. "Beachcomber, collect up the concerns of everyone here and write it out as a report and I'll read it. Cliffjumper, take over the comm duty."

"But I only just came off duty in the maintenance bay..."

"And everyone else clear this room!"

* * *

The brief conversation with Jazz completed, Mirage watched as Prowl frowned at the comm unit and muttered to himself, then the tactician rose and grumpily stomped over to his recharge berth. It seemed an odd reaction until Mirage remembered the earlier conversation.

Prowl was supposed to be resting, not working. The whole point of him being here instead of in his office was so that he could not be observed breaking that rule, but being seen working here could lead to gossip which would break his cover. No wonder he was annoyed at Jazz, especially since the saboteur knew exactly why Prowl had wanted him to come himself.

Today had been an almost complete failure of a mission. He had learned nothing, and he had been trapped in here for joors. When Jazz and Prowl had left earlier he had planned to continue to follow Jazz until his meeting time with Bumblebee, but for some reason he could not get the door to open from the inside.

He had assumed that Jazz had recognised that he was there and was punishing him, and that the TIC would be back to 'talk' to him after awhile. Yet instead when the door opened it was Prowl who entered the room, and the mech's posture and large doorwings and quick step had prevent Mirage from making good his escape. So then he had had to wait again.

Why would Jazz not come to collect the datapad himself, Mirage wondered. They had been civil during their earlier discussion, with no sign of any other emotion. Certainly Jazz had teased Prowll but there was nothing new in that.

As an experienced spy, he knew that it took time to gather good information, but he was dubious at this point about whether there was anything here to be gathered. Jazz and Prowl had interacted in private no differently to how they did so in public. Unless Jazz had known he was there, which he might have. But all that meant was that the attempt was futile anyway.

Unaware of his guest, Prowl was now settling onto his recharge berth efficiently, no shuffling about to find a comfortable position, just sitting and lifting his feet off the floor, then laying down. The tactician did sigh though, which was out of character, and although he picked up the recharge lead he did not plug it in, instead toying with it idly as he stared at the ceiling. Mirage realised that this was the most relaxed pose he had ever seen from Prowl.

Did Jazz get to see this side of him, he wondered? Probably. It would explain how Jazz had put up with the long periods of sharing quarters with him. But then it made him wonder again about the evidence Bumblebee had gathered.

If Jazz wanted Prowl, and knew him in this way, surely he would find a way to slip into Prowl's berth? No-one else need ever know since they already shared quarters and everyone else only saw the stiff, professional Prowl who existed outside of this chamber so they would not guess. Why had he gone rushing to Blaster like that? And then rushing back? There was still something missing here.

A knock on the door brought his attention back to the situation at hand, and he saw Prowl stiffen in reaction, then sit up. Bumblebee was already opening the door, and slipped inside.

"Sorry, Prowl, I'll just be a sec. Jazz's really glitching over whatever Prime's just bailed him up over. Is this it? Great. Catch you later."

The door had been left open, and Bumblebee's cheerful chatter had covered any faint sounds he had made as he hurried out. He waited a little down the hall as Bumblebee closed the door again, then followed behind the minibot who looked down at the pad he was carrying.

"Right." the yellow bot said, as if to himself. "I have to drop this off at Jazz's office, then meet Mirage at the lookout. He'd better be there by now, or Jazz's going to be furious. He's already mad that Raj missed the briefing."

Mirage paced along with him for a few steps more, but then Bumblebee called out to Powerglide and started up a conversation. The message was clear, anyway: get up to the lookout. And, of course, there were no microphones on the cameras up there, so they would be able to talk without being overheard.

* * *

First Aid checked the connections again. He had checked them twice before, but he wanted to be sure. Since he did not have the exact schematics and circuit diagrams for Ratchet's CPU, he was having to work from the generic templates and that meant that some of this was guesswork.

Wheeljack had initially been helpful with that, once he had gotten past the first shock of what they were discussing, but then when they had actually started doing the work he had become... unstable. He had started agonising over every wire and connection, vacillating back and forth over whether it should be blocked or left active. And then there was that whole mess with the pain block.

Prime's solution had been to send Wheeljack away until they had gotten Ratchet online and functioning again, at least to a minimal level, which that meant he was working alone again. Hoist and Huffer were well out of their depth with this, and he no longer trusted Perceptor not to panic.

Sideswipe, of course, was not even a serious consideration. Not for this. He had been a stabilising presence during the crisis, and good as a gofer or watching the monitors or holding Ratchet still, but this was delicate work.

The connections looked right. Last time, they had only activated the central core, closing off everything else. This time he was permitting access to the main memory bank. It was a risk, but that area had not taken any damage and it would help if Ratchet could actually recognise people and remember the situation.

He had debated longer over the wisdom of reactivating the mech's optics, and in the end had left them offline. A couple of the connections had taken minor damage, and he did not want his patient panicking because he could not see properly when he was receiving feedback from the sensors. Better for him to just not have access for now. At least until they had established his condition and explained the situation.

Peering at one of the wires which was glinting as though damaged, he zoomed in on it. No, not broken, it was just the angle of the wire against the light. It was still fully sheathed in its transparent insulation. While he was looking, he made another search of the surrounding circuits, checking that no power could get to the damaged areas.

He was about to check each of the connections again in turn, just to be sure, when he heard the door open. Resetting his optics, he looked up to see Jazz.

"Prime said I should make myself available to ya." the black and white mech told him, pausing near the door. "You just let me know what you need and when; we'll get it done."

First Aid put down his tools, glancing back at the monitor to confirm that there had been no changes, then wiped his hands on a cloth.

"Actually, now would be a good time, if you have time."

"Sure. You wanna talk here?"

First Aid nodded.

"I need to keep an eye on him."

Jazz frowned, looking around.

"Where's Percy? Ain't he s'posed to be helpin'?"

"I... sent him away. Sorry, I know you probably went to a lot of trouble to drag him back here, but he just..."

"It's cool." Jazz assured him, leaning casually back against a nearby berth. "You're the medic - if he was in the way, he can get out. For the record, though, I ain't really got the time or int'rest t'be a medic so I hope y'ain't thinkin' o'trainin' me up as a new assistant."

First Aid smiled, caught up in the infectious grin.

"That's okay. I just wanted to talk to you about some things. I need to figure out how to handle Wheeljack. I need his help, but he's so stuck on the guilt of what happened and the idea that it's Ratchet who got hurt that he just gets these sudden crazy ideas."

"Jack's always been full of crazy ideas." Jazz pointed out. "What makes ya think I can help?"

"Well..." First Aid hesitated, a little embarrassed and looking down at his hands. "Blades suggested it. He said you knew a bit about gestalts, and how we're different, and everyone knows you don't have a long-term sparkmate, so I thought you could help me find a way to understand why he's being so irrational.

"I mean, he's not part of a gestalt, he's not linked, but sparkmates _act_ like they are, right? Like they're bonded, even though they aren't. I don't get that. I don't understand why anyone would want to pretend that they couldn't share with anyone else even if they wanted to, when actually they _can_. It's not like there's any sense in getting bonded in the first place. I mean, what if you choose the wrong mech? You're stuck with them for the rest of your lives. What if you don't get on anymore after a couple of vorns? Or if you fall for someone else? It all so..."

He caught a glimpse of Jazz's blank expression and winced.

"Sorry. I rant a bit sometimes when I have a strong opinion on something. I've never understood bonding. It just doesn't make sense to me. And maybe it doesn't to you either, since you don't have a long-term mate. But you've been around for vorns longer than I have, and I just _can't_ have this conversation with _Prime_!"

Jazz seemed to have gotten over his shock now, and shook his head.

"You'd be surprised. Prime's got a sparkmate himself. But he thought you wanted me to hack some more files for you, not chat about romance."

"Well, I might need that, too." First Aid admitted. "There's nothing in Ratchet's open file about his CPU, and I thought there might be someone else whose CPU he'd worked on that I could base my work on. It's a pretty rare thing, though."

"I'll think about it. For now, lets find some comfy chairs and some energon an' have a talk about handlin' overwrought sparkmates. Inventor-types, in particular."

* * *

Prowl stared at his subordinate, trying to decide whether Pinpoint's excuse about the mech on comms duty not updating the roster the way he had submitted it made any relevant difference to the current situation.

On the one hand, given the mecha who had been in the control centre today - and the twins were at the top of his suspect list - it was entirely feasible that someone was playing a prank by exacerbating the situation. It would not be difficult to confirm this and identify the culprits.

On the other hand, it was Pinpoint's creativity which had started this whole mess in the first place. If the mech had simply recycled an old schedule for the interim there may have been a few minor tweaks required. Instead, he had played creatively with a core element of the _Ark_ 's functioning during the time it was least appropriate to do so.

Pinpoint was not a bad mech, he knew, just inexperienced. He had been raised in a Neutral camp, sheltered from the war, but had been eager to help fight against the Decepticons. Unfortunately his core programming was pacifistic - something many Neutrals did to prevent the Decepticons from abducting their sparklings and making use of them as soldiers - so there was little he could do that was actually useful in their current situation. It wasn't just a matter of changing a little surface programming, as it had been for most of the civilians who had become Autobots, he was effectively hardwired to eschew violent action.

He had been brought aboard the _Ark_ to work as an archivist's assistant but by fortune had been one of the few survivors of the crash. He was not unintelligent, and Prowl did need to make use of every mech with their depleted forces, so it had seemed that an administrative role was the best solution.

This was a decision he was beginning to question.

"I changed it just as you asked." Pinpoint repeated, obviously uncomfortable with the lengthening silence.

"But you did not enter it directly into Teletran One." Prowl responded.

The mech wilted.

"No, sir."

The problem was what this mech would do if he were not under Prowl's command. Red Alert didn't trust Pinpoint and wouldn't have him in the security office; Ironhide wouldn't have him because he couldn't shoot a rifle at anything that mattered; he had not even bothered asking Jazz if he could use him in the ops team and Ratchet wouldn't have him because he said he didn't have time to be training a complete novice when he was busy enough keeping First Aid's training on track.

Not that Ratchet would be training anyone if First Aid didn't pull him through.

He could, theoretically, send Pinpoint to work with the maintenance bots, but the former Neutral was scared of Gears and Grapple.

Under the circumstances, perhaps it was best to divert the mech on to less potentially disruptive tasks.

"Jazz has taken charge of resolving the issue with the rosters." Prowl dismissed the matter. "For now I want you to focus on collating the field reports from the last battle. It's imperative we know precisely which of the Decepticons were absent."

It was make-work of a sort, since he had already done an analysis on the reports that had been submitted with only a few outstanding, but it would prove that Pinpoint was working honestly. Once that was re-established, there were other things he could do.

* * *

Bumblebee dashed up the stairs as quickly as he could while still pretending outwardly that he was just stretching his legs with a run, aware that he was fast running out of time.

Jazz had ordered them to stay in sight of as many as possible at all times, but he had to talk to Mirage and there simply could not be anyone listening in which meant it had to be before Mirage's current shift ended. Most times he knew Jazz would not care about a bit of rule-bending, but today the officer seemed completely out of sorts and Bumblebee found himself wondering uneasily about the kind of punishments Jazz would mete out if he even suspected he was being disobeyed _again_.

The threat of Prime throwing him in the brig paled in comparison.

Reaching the top, he cast about and did not initially see his target. He put on a quizzical expression for the benefit of Red Alert's camera and wandered over to the lookout post, all the while hissing Cybertronian curses subsonically. Where was he? There was no time for this.

"Good thing no-one else is up here to hear that kind of language from innocent little Bumblebee." a disembodied voice commented from his left, and he turned.

"Raj!" He pasted a broad grin on his face. "For pit's sake get rid of that cloak and act nice for Red's surveillance."

The spy complied, but frowned at him.

"Not very much in character." he pointed out.

"Too bad. Jazz's about ready to throw you to the Cons for missing his briefing. What the slag were you doing in there with Prowl when you were supposed to be watching Jazz? And how did he know?"

Mirage moved to answer, then hesitated at the last question.

"I don't know. He didn't seem to notice when I was in the room with him."

"Well he knew where you were." Bumblebee grumbled. "And I said we were just practicing sneaking around him but I don't think he was buying it: he's definitely gonna come after us both later, he was just in a rush. No time to talk about that now, though. You missed out on the briefing for our latest assignment, and you're not going to like it one bit."

"He's decided to infiltrate the _Nemesis_ after all? Who's going?"

Bumblebee stared at him, then slapped his forehead in exasperation.

"Oh slag me, Prime is right! Jazz _is_ planning a class 1 op! Of course he is. Well never mind that now. All missions are off, so forget whatever you two are planning for the Cons. Prime's gotten suspicious, and he's right on Jazz's bumper. We're to make sure we're accessible at all times. And he's got special orders for you: starting next shift, you're on comm duty every alternate shift, and in between you are only allowed in your room to recharge, otherwise you have to be in the rec room and _visible_. Watch tv, surf the net, clean your lasers, whatever but you don't go _anywhere_ but there. Prime wants to be able to find you any time he chooses to. And if he _can't_ , he's going to put us all in the brig."

"For what?"

"Disobeying orders."

"No, what will he tell the others?"

Bumblebee huffed.

"Whatever he fragging well likes! I've never seen Jazz so fritzed, I swear I could almost hear the solder melting on his circuit boards. He'll come down on all of us like an angry Guardian if you step out of line. We've _got_ to do this his way. I've already missed a concert with Spike and Carly: I _don't_ need to be trying to explain to them why I've been incarcerated."

"Prime wouldn't put you in there." Mirage shook his head. "You're too cute. There'd be an uproar."

"He mightn't, but Jazz would. Or worse. You didn't see him. We are _really_ slagged, this time." Bumblebee began to warn him, then jumped as a reminder came up on his HUD. "Slag, I've got to go. Quickly - was there anything odd? Did we _get_ anything for all this hassle?"

Mirage looked at him inscrutably for a moment, then shook his head.

"No."

Bumblebee groaned.

"Naturally. Alright, never mind, I'll see you after my shift. In the rec room."

Turning, he hurried back down the steps without even saying goodbye. He needed to get back to his own duty before Jazz or Prime came looking for him; there was no point making anything worse for himself, things were bad enough as they were.


	15. The third target

The sound of the door opening broke Wheeljack from his cycling thoughts and he tried to twist around to see who it was, then cried out involuntarily as the half-healed tear in his side protested.

"Easy there, Jack, don't blow a gasket!" his guest protested.

"Jazz?" he frowned, still struggling to sit up and finally managing it with the other mech's help. "What are you doing here?"

"So a mech can't stop by an' visit a friend?" Jazz asked, making sure he was stable before stepping back. "Anyone know you're sittin' in here leakin' like that?"

"What? Oh, it's nothing much. I just pulled a bit of the plating loose, it was on too tight. Can I go back to Ratchet now? Did Prime send you?"

"Prime doesn't know I'm here." Jazz shook his head, grabbing a nearby stool and settling gracefully onto it.

For a moment, Wheeljack flashed back to a time many vorns ago when he had welcomed Jazz into his berth now and again, before he'd fallen for Ratchet. It was never a long term thing with Jazz, but it had been a lot of fun and occasionally he found himself noticing all over again how elegant the other mech was, in both movement and design.

It was no wonder that so many mechs were happy to have him for as long as the relationship lasted, even knowing that he would move on to someone else all too soon.

"Why've you never shared with Ratchet?" he blurted suddenly, asking the question he had occasionally pondered.

Jazz did not seem put out by the abrupt change of topic, only tilting his head a little to indicate his surprise.

"I don't go where there's no interest." the response came simply, but then was followed up. "Why'd you ask?"

"I've... I guess I've wondered."

"Well now you know."

The response was a little sharp and Wheeljack frowned, wondering what had caused the uncharacteristic irritation.

"Sorry, it's none of my business." he began, but Jazz waved a hand to dismiss the apology.

"Nah mech, no worries. It's been a long coupla days, and I haven't had a chance to charge properly yet. An' that ain't why I'm here. Why'd you do it, Jack?"

"Do what?" Wheeljack asked, trying to sound innocent.

Jazz did not seem amused, just staring at him, and Wheeljack sighed and stared at the floor. A lecture from Ironhide, a scolding from Optimus, and now a 'friendly' interrogation from Jazz. What would be next, a spark-to-spark with Prowl? He shook off that thought. In truth, it was never easy to hide the truth from Jazz. The mech was usually two steps ahead anyway, but he was a good listener and right now Wheeljack needed someone to confide in. Jazz, at least, could be discreet.

"He's going to leave me." he admitted miserably. "I know he is. If I could just _talk_ to him, apologise, I might... I just wanted to talk..."

Jazz waited a moment, making sure he was finished before speaking up.

"Talk about what, Jack? Ain't like he's in any state for a good old chat right now. I know you want him online, I get that, but Aid's the medic. Better to let him do things his way, right?"

Wheeljack flinched, then winced as the movement made the pain in his side worse.

"It's my fault." he confessed, pressing one hand to his side to ease the pain. "I told him I'd fix that shelf, and I was going to do it yesterday but I got distracted. If it'd fallen any other time it wouldn't've been a problem, but he was lying there. He _never_ just lies there, but he was up all night picking bits of tree out of Fireflight and he was tired... Jazz?"

His guest had risen and sat on the side of the berth next to him, and was now peeling his fingers away from his side and examining the damage.

"You didn't know it was gonna fall right then." Jazz pointed out. "He didn't, either. It was an accident. An' yeah, he could die, but First Aid is pretty positive about it all so I don't think we're gonna lose'im, so you'll get your chance t'talk if you're just a bit patient. Hold still a click."

Wheeljack winced but complied as Jazz prised the plating up a little more and squeezed the dripping energon line for a moment. The increase in damage made his self-repair system rush into action, and by the time Jazz had curled the thin plating back into place Wheeljack was already feeling the difference.

"What did you do?"

Jazz shrugged.

"Field trick to stop bleedin'. Just the right amount of pressure triggers the self repair; too much, though, and the line'll tear right through. It'll hold until I get ya back to the repair bay, which I _will_ do so long as I know you ain't gonna try any more stunts wit' Ratchet. Aid'll pull'im through."

Wheeljack looked away.

"He won't want me there."

"Who, Aid?" Jazz frowned. "He ain't one t'hold a grudge. No, wait, you're thinkin' o' Ratchet? An' after jus' tellin' me how much ya wanna talk to the mech? You're not glitchin' that badly. He'll yell at you for being so stupid, sure, but he'll want you there. He loves you, Jack."

Wheeljack shook his head.

"No. _I_ love _him_. There's a difference. He'll want to break it off after this. I know it."

There was no immediate response and he looked up sharply to see Jazz rubbing tiredly at the top of his visor. The sight startled him: no-one was more careful about projecting the image they wanted other mechs to see, but Jazz seemed to be having trouble keeping up the role of concerned friend. He truly was exhausted, Wheeljack realised, and wondered what had been going on since he had been injured.

"You love'im." Jazz echoed, his hand dropping away to move over Wheeljack's shoulder in a casually friendly gesture once he realised he was being observed. "I know that. _Everyone_ knows it. You've made it pretty clear over the vorns. You _really_ think if he didn't feel the same he wouldn'ta told ya t'frag off by now? It ain't like the mech has trouble expressin' himself, Jack. If he has somethin' to say, everyone hears it."

"Then why won't he just _say_ it!" Wheeljack exploded. "Just once. Why doesn't he _trust_ me? Why does he share with me and then go recharge on his own? Why?"

Jazz shrugged.

"You'll have to ask him. Here's what I _do_ know: he's happier now than he was when I first met'im, and that's because of you. You two were friends for a long time, an' that was good, but this is more. An' if you think one li'l accident's gonna make'im forget that, then you're glitchin'. Yeah, he'll yell at you. Sure, he'll be angry. But then he'll get over it an' he'll want you right there where you are - I guarantee it. Now. I got stuff t'do, an' we need to get you some proper treatment. If I take you back to First Aid, you promise you won't cause any more trouble?"

"I won't. I just need to talk to him. I need to apologise."

"You'll get your chance. Right. So, can you walk? Because there ain't no way I can carry you, but I could call in the twins for a hand?"

"I can manage."

"Off we go, then."

* * *

Pinpoint kept his head down, pretending to be utterly absorbed in his work in the hope that he would continue to be ignored. By choice he would have left the room but there was no way to do that without interrupting the other two present and he had no desire to do that at all.

His thoughts drifted back to life on Cybertron. The Neutral enclave he had been activated into had been small and close-knit, concealed deep in the catacombs under Iacon. Life had been safe there. He had been bored and determined to seek adventure, but now that he had found it he spent more and more time wishing he had never left.

Getting accepted as a recruit had been exciting, though there had been clear disappointment from the trainers once they realised that his core programming meant he could never shoot a rifle or fight as a soldier. Still, they had found him work, and when the chance came to join the crew of the _Ark_ he had wasted no time in accepting. The chance to work near the heart of the Autobot army - near the Prime himself - had seemed a dream at the time.

Now it felt more like a nightmare.

Waking up after the crash to discover that they had lost so very many of the crew had been shocking. All of his workmates were gone, along with most of the noncombatant mecha. Those left online were almost exclusively frontline soldiers and command-level officers. Mecha he knew by name and reputation but had only seen at a distance now passed him in the hallway or stood next to him in the rec room for a turn at the energon dispenser. And the chief tactical officer, the second in command himself, had summoned him to discuss what role he could play amongst all these celebrities.

Unfortunately, his choices were limited. He couldn't use, build or repair weaponry, he wasn't a medic, and he didn't really like the organics at all. They just seemed so unnatural to him. So alien. Whenever they turned up at the _Ark_ he preferred to stay right out of their way.

Fortunately, Prowl had a solution. Pinpoint had been appointed to the role of administrative aide. He wasn't required to work directly with any of the battle plans that would have conflicted with his primary programming, but took over the more menial data entry for things like the energon consumption statistics and researching the meteorological fluctuations around the planet. It was boring, but at least he was contributing, and it was a role that usually meant very little direct interaction with others.

Most of the time being Prowl's aide meant a very structured existence working in a calm, stable environment for a very logical and patient boss. Occasionally, though, it put him right in the centre of some of the _Ark_ 's worst clashes. Like right now.

"Furthermore," Optimus Prime was growling at his SIC, "you will drop this investigation you're running into this fictional 'third target'."

"I believe the target exists." Prowl responded calmly.

"Whether it does or not, it's polarising the whole crew. Half of them want to go out searching, and the other half are demanding I shift Jazz into other quarters so he doesn't have to put up with you any longer."

"I have apologised for my behaviour, and Jazz has accepted that apology. There is no further animosity between us."

"Then why is he avoiding your quarters? Prowl I want this to stop, and it's _going_ to stop."

"Very well." Prowl nodded. "This investigation will be closed. And I will speak to Jazz. If he wishes to find other accommodations, we can look at the roster and determine an appropriate rearrangement however I do not believe that this will be necessary. Now about this restriction you have placed on his staff..."

"That is nothing to do with your duties. Has he spoken to you about it?"

"No, but I have seen this latest roster. It would be a better use of resources to have Mirage and Hound watch for Decepticon movement outside our sensor range."

"No, they stay on base. Now, I have to get to the repair bay. Has Perceptor reported yet?"

Pinpoint grimaced. That had been another unpleasantness. Perceptor had been defensive about his choice to abandon First Aid in the repair bay, and not even repentant that he had remained in his quarters while Prowl, Jazz and Sunstreaker were desperately trying to defend the _Ark_ from Devastator. The lecture on his duties that Prowl had given had been stinging.

"He has." Prowl responded. "First Aid has recommended that he be given other duties, and I concur: I am unconvinced he was very effective as an assistant medic. We have discussed it and he has agreed that his recent conduct has been less than could be expected."

"But how did Jazz find out...?" Optimus began, then sighed. "Never mind. Make an announcement that we are no longer looking for a third target. And sort out this mess with Jazz so he can get some recharge in, he's starting to look like a drone."

"Yes, sir."

Prime left and the door closed, and there was silence for the first time this shift.

After a constant run of complainants over the rosters which had already changed three times in the last two joors and were about to be changed again, and then Perceptor's dressing down, and then Red Alert's complaints that Jazz's team was acting oddly and refusing to leave the rec room without orders from Jazz or Prime himself, Pinpoint had had more than enough and he knew that Prowl probably had too. Perhaps now, though, things would calm down?

Pausing the program he was running, he turned to look at his boss.

"Sir? What do you want me to do with this data I compiled?"

"Have you found anything?"

"No sir."

"Then save it to a data crystal and begin an internet search for news items relating to jets during the time period specified."

"But..." Pinpoint began hesitantly. "I'm sorry, but didn't you just tell Prime you weren't going to look anymore?"

"I said that the investigation would be closed. I did not give a timeframe for when that would happen. Make sure you include..."

He broke off as the door opened and Jazz walked in.

"Got a minute, Prowler? Need to talk to ya."

Pinpoint slumped in his seat in frustration, but Prowl's response was unexpectedly up-beat.

"Excellent. I also need to speak to you. Lets do this in the rec room, I need some energon and you appear to require some yourself. Pinpoint: turn that off, bring those and join us."

* * *

Jazz accepted the cube Prowl handed him, leaning back to put his feet up on the corner of the table and smirking at his bondmate's automatic disapproving glance before sipping at his energon.

"So Prime's been visitin', huh?"

Pinpoint hesitated by the table.

"Uh, I'm actually still on duty, so..."

"Sit down." Prowl instructed. "You can process that data as easily here as in my office. More easily here, in fact, given how many interruptions we have already had today. Sit. And yes, Jazz, Prime did stop by. He's suggested that you would feel more comfortable if you found some other accommodation."

That, then, was why they were here, Jazz realised. So that this conversation could be overheard. Such was occasionally the way with the roles they were forced to play, and they had done it before.

It was, in fact, the first time in their lives they had officially shared quarters, and it had only happened because of the crash. With accommodation space so limited, it had been almost inevitable. If anything, it would probably have been more suspicious if they had found a way out of it, though of course they had done all they could to be publicly avoiding spending time there together.

So which way would this go now? If Prowl thought it was important that they be seen to be separate, he would persist and some other arrangement would have to be made. In some ways, Jazz hoped it turned out that way - it had always proven easier for him to sneak into Prowl's quarters without anyone being aware. Though of course it would also mean coping with Prowl having a different roommate, which could make things complicated.

Settling back he looked at the tactician over the rim of his cube, coincidentally ensuring he was on just the right angle to keep an eye on most of the mechs in the room to watch their reactions.

"Where'd that come from?"

"Apparently," Prowl replied drily, "our dispute has become so antagonistic that you have been unable to recharge comfortably."

Jazz snorted, taking note that Bumblebee, Hound and Smokescreen were all within hearing range, amongst others. Those three would be paying particular attention, he knew. Smokescreen was always wanting info for his betting pools, and the ops staff were always looking for an edge over him. It was just the way of things in the work they did, which was part of the reason why he was not truly angry with Bumblebee and Mirage right now. Which wasn't to say he was going to let them get away with whatever they had been doing: getting caught was definitely worse than not trying at all.

"Shame I missed it, then." he drawled, refocusing on Prowl. "I could do wit'a good argument."

"You do look tired." Prowl pointed out matter-of-factly. "And you were not recharging when I saw you earlier, though you were scheduled for it. Also, your previous scheduled break was interrupted by the explosion."

"Too much to do." Jazz dismissed the issue. "I've just been in to see First Aid, by the way. They're gonna try again in a few breems."

Prowl inclined his head.

"Ah."

"Ah?" Jazz echoed, finishing off the energon in his cube and reaching for the carafe Prowl had set on the table.

Prowl did not enlighten him, instead picking up one of the datapads Pinpoint had put on the table and glancing over it, then he held it out. Jazz took it and was surprised to see a list of potential Decepticon targets with probabilities stacked alongside each.

"Anyone ever tell you that this kinda persistence ain't healthy, man?"

Prowl frowned at him.

"I do wish you would dispense with using inappropriate human idioms. What do you think?"

Jazz sighed and looked over the list more closely to memorise it in case it turned out to be relevant later, then shook his head and tossed the pad back on the table.

"I think I can't help you. Prime's got everyone tied down at base for the duration. Now if _you_ could get those restrictions eased a bit...?"

Hound and Smokescreen both leaned fractionally closer in anticipation. Bumblebee appeared to be listening intently to Bluestreak but Jazz was not fooled: the wily little scout would be catching every word.

"Not possible." Prowl shook his head, spoiling his moment. "There are to be no exceptions."

"Even just for a quick energon run?"

"None."

"Then there's nothin' I can do. 'Cept get some recharge, of course. Unless you're gonna tell me you've already shifted me out?"

Prowl's frown deepened.

"Hardly. We haven't got anywhere to move you _to_. If you insist, I suppose we could fit an extra cot in with the twins; all the other rooms that size already have at least three."

"I could shift in with Optimus." Jazz suggested, teasing.

"There's no room in there for another cot."

"Don't necessarily need one." Jazz pointed out, openly grinning now. "I mean, how often do you see me in my own berth as it is? An' his is nice and roomy."

Prowl's optics dimmed in thought.

"Perceptor could probably do with a roommate. I'm sure he wouldn't complain."

"Or we could move _him_ in wit' the twins an' I could have his room to m'self." Jazz considered. "Makes sense, with him an' Sides both helpin' out in the repair bay. They can swot together."

The murmuring around the room proved that they now had everyone's attention, and he sent a little wordless pulse through their bond. Whatever Prowl wanted everyone to hear, now was the time.

"On the other hand," Jazz continued lazily, "I could just stay right where I am. I'm kinda used to your quirks, an' I hate breakin' in new roommates. Wit' my background, I tend t'break'em a few times before they learn not to try'n sneak up on me."

"Fine. Then lets get back to the other issue. Have a look at this."

Prowl turned to his left and ordered Pinpoint to hand him the pad he was working on, scrolling up and searching for something. Jazz took the brief pause to empty his cube rather than give in to the urge to sigh. They had played this game too often over the vorns and he was tired of it. They would talk over an issue publicly just to make it seem like they didn't already know what the other was thinking. How in the name of Primus had no-one ever seen through the sham?

"There." Prowl said abruptly, thrusting the pad back at Jazz. "I knew there'd be a pattern if we looked hard enough."

Jazz looked at it, then looked up in surprise. It seemed that this time, at least, he didn't have a clue what his partner was thinking. So much for predictability.

~Where the frag are you goin' wit' this?~ he asked privately.

Prowl just looked at him expectantly, not acknowledging the comm signal and Jazz reached out his hand to give the pad back to the aide, keeping his eyes fixed on the other officer.

"Pinpoint, take those pads back to Prowl's office and delete'em, would ya? He won't be needin'em now."

Prowl looked affronted.

"You don't see it? It's blatantly obvious."

"Uh huh." Jazz nodded slowly. "Prowl, jus' _why_ did you say Ratchet put you on med leave?"

"That's not relevant. It's obvious that the two attacks were planned so that Megatron could get to..."

"Hang on." Jazz cut him off. "Megs was at the plant."

"Soundwave, then." Prowl amended with audible irritation at the interruption. "It hardly matters whose plan it was, merely what the objective was."

"Mm. How about you finish up this little story on the way back to your recharge berth, hey? Seems like I ain't the only one who hasn't been restin' enough."

"Jazz, you appear to be humouring me." Prowl pointed out coldly. "I would like you to stop that. Surely you see how obvious this is?"

"Not really, but I'd _love_ you to explain it to me. Then once I get it, we can take it to Prime. Best t'get the story straight first, though. Right?"

Prowl was now glaring quite furiously, and Jazz had to work hard to continue looking concerned. He wanted to burst either into hysterical laughter or rapturous applause for the show they were putting on. And mechs said Prowl was a drone? Ha. What little they knew.

"You think I've blown a circuit." the tactician said flatly.

"Truthfully? Yes, that's exactly what I think." Jazz hissed back as though trying to keep from being overheard, but right now the room was so silent he was sure that at least the five or six mechs closest heard anyway. "An' your timin's terrible. Boss-bot don't need this right now."

He sat up and cast around the room as though only just realising that their every word was being attended to, then flicked a hand vaguely.

"You lot must have somethin' else t'be doin': go and do it right now or I'll find somethin' ya won't enjoy so much. Smokey, gimme a hand to get Prowl back to our room, would you? Charger, give Pinpoint a hand gettin' this stuff back to Prowl's office, would you? Bee, go wait outside the repair bay for Prime to come out, then get a message to First Aid that I need to talk to'im when he's got a minute."

~So I don't get to share my theory with the masses?~ Prowl asked.

~We'll save it for later, if we get desperate. This is a bad idea, Prowler. First Aid's trying to find someone else with CPU problems to analyse an' this'll put ya right in the firin' line.~

~I know. He asked me if Red Alert would be a suitable subject. Which is precisely why I am attempting to display the pre-cursor symptoms of a processor freeze.~

Jazz ground his denta. Sometimes, just sometimes, his mate could come up with some totally dense reactions to situations. Generally when it applied to himself.

~That's the worst plan I've ever heard. An' you ain't doin' it right, in any case.~

Prowl's optics narrowed faintly, then suddenly surged and he stumbled, forcing Jazz to catch him.

~You had better help me make it look more realistic, then.~


	16. Small victories and compromises

Bumblebee took the roundabout route to the repair bay and managed to arrive outside Prowl's office just before Pinpoint and Windcharger did.

"So - what's the story?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at the repair bay?" Pinpoint asked.

"I'll go there in a few clicks. Can I have a look, first?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

"Aw come on." Bumblebee grinned charmingly. "How'm I supposed to stay on top of the gossip if I don't know what's going on? Just one little look? You're going to delete it anyway."

Pinpoint still looked undecided, but Windcharger grabbed the relevant pad and looked at it himself, then choked.

"What in the pit...?"

Pinpoint snatched it back, looked at it, then winced.

"Oh. That one. Look, it was just a theory, and..."

"That the Decepticons are raising sparklings on Cybertron!" Windcharger spluttered. "There's proof of that?"

"No, but there's some good evidence for it." Pinpoint tried to explain, ushering them into the office and closing the door. "The constant use of the space bridge for transporting energon, for a start. I mean, they must be struggling to get enough to keep themselves going, but they keep trying to transport it away. And what does Shockwave do with all that energon? The scouts on Cybertron haven't reported it going to any obvious purposes. It just disappears. And Prowl wasn't just talking about sparklings - he just said that was a possibility because they use so much energon and they're not ready to fight, which is why we haven't seen any of them. But it could just as easily be a strike force in training. And that could be where Starscream's trine disappeared to: off to train the rookies."

"You think?" Windcharger asked dubiously. "Sounds a bit farfetched for me. And what was all that about med leave?"

"I... don't know. Ratchet came in here the other day and marched Prowl out, then stopped back in to say that he was on med leave for the next few hours. That was it."

"Maybe Ratchet thought he was overstressed." Bumblebee volunteered. "It's happened before. I bet that's why Jazz's trying to get him to rest, too. Anyway, I'd better scoot. Catch you in the rec room after next shift, Charger?"

"Sure thing."

Bouncing out, Bumblebee considered what he had learned as he made his way to the med bay. Was this enough to explain Jazz's odd behaviour? It was marginally plausible. If Ratchet had reported the compulsory med leave to Prime, then Prime ordered Jazz to go back and keep an eye on his roommate, it would explain his distraction and rush. But still, was that really enough to explain _all_ the weirdness?

"Bumblebee!"

Turning, he saw Bluestreak hurrying over to him.

"Where'd you go? Jazz sent you to the repair bay, but I went there and you weren't there."

"I just needed to check something. What's up?"

"Prowl's had one of his freezes! One second he was arguing with Jazz about getting some recharge, then he just froze up!"

Definitely a processor error, then. Bumblebee let go of his suspicions; if there had been anything else to know it was now too well buried to keep chasing.

"Does Jazz want us to interrupt First Aid?"

"What? No, he said everything was okay and got Smokescreen to help him carry him out. But it's not okay, Prowl's supposed to go to Ratchet when he freezes up not just get some charge, I mean what's going on?"

Bumblebee had no idea, but he didn't need Bluestreak going into a panic too so he just patted his friend's arm.

"I'm sure Jazz knows what he's doing. In fact think that's what Jazz was getting at when he was trying to get him to go back and recharge. And maybe it wasn't a proper freeze at all, maybe Prowl's just tired I mean, Jazz wouldn't just take him back to quarters if he really needed a medic, now would he? I bet he'll be up and about again in a while and completely normal again."

"I hope so. Hey, you want some company while you wait for Prime to come out?"

"Sure. You can finish telling me about that human movie you were watching."

* * *

This time Ratchet heard a click as he came online, and someone spoke.

**He's online. Looking good so far.**

**FrrrrrsAid?** he asked, frowned and cleared his processor of garbled commands, then tried again. **First Aid?**

That was better. No cheering this time, but he felt someone grip his hand. His hand? Strange. He could have sworn his whole body had been blocked before.

**Ratchet?** Wheeljack called him urgently. **Ratchet, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it was all my fault...**

Optimus rumbled something in an unfamiliar language which made Wheeljack respond in the same, but Ratchet ignored that for now.

**Jack, what did you do?**

There was a pause.

**I accidentally blew up the lab with you in it.**

Well that explained why he did not remember anything, he must have gone straight from recharge to offline, and that was somewhat reassuring. On the other hand, it meant his injuries could literally be anything at all. He tried to run a diagnostic, but found that he did not have access to that function. In fact, there were huge gaps in his processes. No optics, no specialist database access, no long-term memory storage access, no... no protections... He shivered in spite of himself. If any of them got a good, clinical look at his spark they might start wondering, and that would start questions that he did not want to answer.

**Ratchet.** Optimus' voice broke into his horrified thoughts. **The damage is very localised. It looks very messy to me as a non-medic, but First Aid believes it could easily have been much worse. He has gotten you back to this stage, and I have faith that he can complete the job. You must be patient with him.**

**What damage?** he demanded. **My optics...?**

**The damage there is minimal.** First Aid reassured him. **I just didn't want to overload your sensors when I first brought you out of stasis. There's a bit of wire damage I need to fix, but nothing serious.** He paused. **The serious damage is to your CPU.**

The news seemed too big to process. His CPU was damaged?

**A rod pierced your helmet.** Optimus explained. **That was the only damage you sustained, and First Aid has successfully removed it. From what I understand, it is now a matter of repairing the area and reactivating it.**

He felt Wheeljack squeeze his hand more tightly, and the almost-painful grip gave him something to focus on. His core structure was not compromised. He would see again. The problem was... was something else. Well, he had been injured before. And this time at least he had a reasonably competent assistant.

**I need to talk to First Aid about the specifics.** he announced. **Then I need my optics functioning again, then I'll need Hound. In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you can do something to keep the bay clear of other emergencies. Jack - go and clean up your lab. I might need you to manufacture some parts, and you can't help with this now. Prime, I appreciate your help, but you've done your bit so get out of my lab and let First Aid work in peace.**

* * *

Prowl watched from his recharge berth as Jazz paced agitatedly back and forth, idly counting each round trip. Thirty-nine times so far. Forty. Forty-one. Forty-two...

"Alright, fine." Jazz spoke up finally, stopping two steps into the forty-third journey from door to back wall. "You're gonna get your way anyway, so fine. Just tell me why. You don't think there's enough goin' on right now?"

"There are several good reasons why..." Prowl began, but Jazz was already pacing again so he broke off and waited.

Forty-three. Forty-four.

"First Aid isn't gonna know this is an act, you know that, right? So he's gonna take it seriously. So he's gonna go trawlin' through your files and _treat_ you like this is real because he don't know any different."

"I have tested the likely searches..."

"He's going to be pokin' about _in your head!_ " Jazz bellowed, fear pulsing through their bond so strongly that Prowl rocked back as though physically struck. "What if he gets somethin' wrong?"

"There isn't anything there to fix."

"You an' I both know slaggin' well there's nothin' wrong wit'ya right now. It doesn't _happen_ like this. But all _he'll_ see is that he can't _see_ it. What if he decides t'get creative in fixin' this? You know how determined he is to fix everythin'. What if he does real damage?"

There were definitely times when Prowl was pleased that their quarters were completely sealed. Even Prime's office would not contain this noise level so effectively. Jazz only did this when he was particularly upset, Prowl knew that, and his speakers were blaring loudly enough to make the berth vibrate against the wall. Which meant that he had not heard a word that Prowl had said. And he had begun pacing again. Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Rising, Prowl moved to stand in his way.

"Stop."

"What?"

Prowl sighed to himself. Jazz was ignoring all of his attempts to make a comm connection, so he was left with cruder options. Grabbing a datapad, he typed a short sentence then handed it to his partner: _Turn off your speakers and listen to me._

The sudden silence was shocking, but Prowl simply turned up his audial gain and began to make his arguments now that they would be heard.

"I'm not going to let him do any damage. Yes, I have been playing this up to get his attention, but only so he will search my notes for the information he needs to repair Ratchet. I would rather he used mine than Red Alert's, for multiple reasons, not least of which being that Ratchet has never fully identified the causes of Red Alert's glitches because the mech won't let him do a full analysis while I have permitted such examinations on multiple occasions.

"Obviously, my current symptoms are _not_ a match to the usual pattern and so need not lead to any radical treatment. We can explain my temporary lapse exactly as you already have: a lack of rest. Ratchet was already quite vocal about what would happen if I did not give myself sufficient recharge time. Prime has heard that lecture many times, and several mechs on duty two days ago heard an abridged version. There is enough of an alibi to manage this without requiring any actual treatment, just a few days rest. A third of an orn, perhaps.

"In the meantime, since you are also known to be wearied, it will not seem remarkable if we spend some time together, which I believe you are in need of given your agitation over Ratchet's plans for handling our bond should one of us perish. It is well past time we found time to talk - there is simply too much going on at present and it is adversely affecting us both."

Jazz was staring at him, but now looked away, his fists clenching.

"And you've been planning this since when, exactly?"

"Approximately twenty minutes ago, since First Aid called me."

"But that stuff about sparklings...?"

Prowl shook his head.

"It's a valid theory, if rather unlikely. I do still believe there was something else going on, but to confirm it I need your team back out doing their jobs but since it seems that that will not be possible, I can only hope that we do not regret this missed opportunity in the future. Nevertheless I remain convinced that there was another purpose to those skirmishes, despite the break in pattern and the lack of evidence."

He reached out to place a gentle hand on his bondmate's shoulder, letting the physical contact soothe the tension between them.

"It's not that I don't trust your skills. You must know that."

Jazz remained frozen in place for a moment longer, then flopped down onto his berth with a groan.

"All I know, mech, is that bein' what we are don't make a micron's worth o'diff'rence t'me understandin' ya."

Prowl sank back down on his own berth, running a quick diagnostic to confirm that his audio-sensors had not taken permanent damage.

"The feeling is entirely mutual."


	17. The moment of truth

First Aid heard voices as he came online, but that was not at all unusual so he ignored them. He had four brothers, and there were always at least two up before he was. Partly that was his schedule: Ratchet did not trust him alone on call yet, so his shifts were always daylight ones. They might sometimes stretch on late into the night, but they never started early, and right now it was early: his internal chronometer told him that.

Even before he turned on his optics this time, he knew he had not had enough rest and he vaguely considered just re-initiating his charge protocols. What stopped him was an alert on his HUD; it seemed he had left his diagnostic module running, and it was listing half a dozen problems with his system relating to lack of recharge and a need for fresh energon in his system. He would have to visit the rec room before going back into charge or he would only wake up again shortly. He looked for his charging alert to see how much time he had left between now and the start of his shift, but couldn't find it. Strange. He always set an alarm, why hadn't he done so this time?

And then reality came crashing back and he jerked upright to stare about.

He wasn't in his quarters with his brothers, he was still in the repair bay; he was still the acting-CMO; Ratchet was still laid out as a critical care patient on the second berth in the main room. He was currently in Ratchet's office, sitting in front of a diagnostic display that was far more complex than anything he had yet learned to interpret. Exhaustion had clearly gotten the better of him.

Focusing on the screen, he checked his notes then finished the sequence that saved it to the appropriate file. This was one of the many scans that Ratchet had had him run. The senior medic had barely glanced at them, sometimes announcing that one had to be repeated, or that another could be discarded as irrelevant. Then he had ordered First Aid to sort by type the ones he was happy with and save them onto a datapad ready for quick reference.

Reconnecting Ratchet's diagnostic processor without accidentally routing power to one of the damaged areas had been fiddly, and the older medic had been impatient with his instructions, but once it was done it seemed to work just fine. Too well, he suspected, since Ratchet had gone very quiet for a few moments after that while going over the scans First Aid had already taken. And then he launched into this flow of complicated diagnostics. Still, although First Aid was still worrying that it was a bad idea for the patient to know too much about his own condition - one of Ratchet's own rules - it was a relief to be able to follow orders again. Being solely responsible with something so far out of his experience had been frightening. Clearly he needed to study harder to make sure he was never caught so unprepared again.

Shaking off his thoughts, he downloaded the results back into a datapad and hurried out into the main room to find Jazz and Ratchet talking quietly.

"...you're absolutely right - it's a stupid idea." Ratchet was grumbling tiredly. "The two situations are completely different."

"You were still offline at the time." Jazz pointed out, nodding slightly to First Aid to acknowledge him. "We were lookin' for any solutions available an' he thought it might bring up somethin' useful."

"Hmph. Well you can tell him to stop it. Sounds like everyone's gone fritzy since I got hurt."

Jazz smiled.

"I'll tell'im you said that. Now, Prime said somethin' about you wantin' Hound?"

"Yes. I suppose he's been sent to the moon or somewhere equally inconvenient?" Ratchet asked sourly.

"Nah, he's just waitin' outside. But we ain't sure what you want him t'do."

Ratchet began to grumble something about not being questioned, but First Aid abruptly realised why the older medic wanted the scout.

"It's for his holograms." he said confidently, stepping forward. "He can model the damage in 3D so Ratchet can look at it."

"Riiiight." Jazz grimaced. "Think I'll leave y'all to it, then. Good to see you functionin', doc. Catch you later."

He left, but Ratchet focused sharply on First Aid, apparently concerned.

"When did you come online? What did you hear of that conversation?"

"A few clicks ago. I only heard the last few statements: Jazz believed he had found a solution but you did not think it was viable."

Ratchet relaxed.

"Right. Do you have those scans? Good. Show me."

* * *

Optimus stopped just inside the closed door to his office, took one look at the pile of reports waiting for him on his desk, and groaned.

For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to be Megatron. He was certain the leader of the Decepticons did not spend joors dealing with data the way he did. Of course Optimus himself usually diverted most of it to his subordinates, who in turn delegated a proportion to their underlings, and so on. But right now the most senior of his officers were all problematic.

Ratchet, of course, was completely incapacitated, but now it seemed that Prowl had had one of his breakdowns in the rec room. And Jazz, who would normally pick up the slack willingly, was infuriated by the restrictions placed on his team and had been impossible to track down. Oh he had not left the base, but he appeared to be using all of his skill to remain publicly visible but also to make sure that Optimus could not find him short of sending out a base-wide summons.

Nearly a full hour of futile searching for his TIC meant that it was not just coincidence. Not with someone of Jazz's skill; Prime just didn't believe it.

Perhaps he should relent and relax the restrictions, he mused. The ops team had always been a law unto themselves, and Jazz was just the latest in a succession of commanders who kept far too many secrets. The initial order had been a reaction to the crisis at hand, just a spur of the moment decision. If not for Jazz's stubbornness, he would have revoked that order by now. The problem was, he hated knowing there was something going on and not knowing what it was, and that summed Jazz's team up completely. He never knew what they were doing, or why, or whether Jazz knew about it or not. Sometimes the special ops officer seemed just as surprised by his staff as Optimus was, and that was a worry. Of course, that could just be acting on Jazz's part. Even so, it bothered him.

For a start, the team itself was... odd. Mirage's placement was obvious given his specialist mods, but Jazz almost never seemed to give him any direct orders unless they came from Optimus himself; otherwise the spy seemed to just wander about at will. Hound was much the same. He was an excellent scout, but what did he _do_ from orn to orn? He was away from base for joors at a time with no explanation and produced no formal report that Optimus ever saw. Meanwhile Smokescreen and Trailbreaker were officially Prowl's staff, but they seemed to spend more time reporting to Jazz than to the tactician. And then there was Bumblebee.

The minibot's connection to the ops team had come about initially because neither Prime nor Ironhide wanted Bumblebee too close to the fighting before he could defend himself, and there was usually at least one Special Ops member back at base at any given point in time who could watch over him. They were all good bodyguards, and keeping the youngest bot safe had been the primary goal.

Then Hound had started training Bumblebee as a scout, which seemed sensible enough at the time. He was never going to be a melee fighter and his sniping ability was mediocre, and since he was possibly the last sparkling the Autobots would ever see everyone was keen to see him settled in a slightly less front-line position. Over time Bumblebee had proven himself a willing and capable warrior, frequently found to fight alongside the other minibots, or even the twins, and able to hold his own in any situation. But he was loyal to Jazz just the same as the others, and always looked completely confused when Optimus suggested a team change might be good for him.

A knock on the door reminded Prime that he was still leaning against it. Stepping quickly away from it, he turned and allowed it to open only to find Jazz reaching to knock again. The saboteur blinked, probably a bit startled to find him right in the doorway, then cocked his head to the side.

"Got a minute, boss?"

Fighting the urge to grab him and haul him inside for his insubordination - succeeding only because he didn't actually have any evidence that Jazz had been deliberately evasive - Optimus nodded shortly and headed over to his desk.

"Come in."

Jazz padded inside, his usual energy missing from his step as he sat in a chair. The problem was, it could all still be an act. With Jazz, nothing was ever certain.

"Got a coupla things t'tell ya." Jazz admitted. "First up, I was the one that let Jack outta his room. I know you put him there, but I had a talk to him and I don't think he'll be a problem anymore. He's just fritzed over what happened. Second, you heard about Prowl?"

Optimus nodded, and Jazz sighed, rubbing at his visor absently.

"Guess that explains his fixation on this crazy 'third target' theory. You really don't wanna know where _that_ was goin', trust me. His theory was weird enough to make Red's paranoia look normal. He hasn't blown any circuits though, thank Primus, he just needs to recharge. That's what Ratchet told him before all this happened, an' he didn't get enough rest then, an' he ain't had much since. The up side, if there is an up side, is that it didn't get so far that his battle comp took over. I'll keep an optic on him, an' I've started some rumours about his collapse bein' just because he's tired - which is actually true this time - so we're covered. What else? Oh.

"Third, what the slag are you tryin' t'do, sayin' you want me to shift out? Officers quarters are the only ones that Grapple soundproofed an' you _know_ I like t'have my music up when I'm chillin' out. If I'm anywhere else you're gonna have noise complaints, and I'm gonna direct 'em straight at you. Now if you wanna move _Prowl_ out, that's your business, but that's _my_ room an' I'm stayin' there. An' for the record, I've never had _any_ problem sharing quarters wit' Prowl. He's a neat freak an' borin' as waitin' for a coat'a paint t'dry, but he puts up with me so I put up wit' him. Sides which, I hate gettin' used to new roommates. Messes up my internal sensors; I keep comin' back online thinkin' someone's sneakin' around, an' with my trainin' I usually find I've got them at gunpoint before I even register who they are so they'd prob'ly jus' be on at ya t'send me away again, quick enough. Prowler at least knows how t'stay outta my way. He even rosters it that way.

"Fourth, I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me change the rosters again for at least a couple of joors. Mechs all over the _Ark_ keep glarin' at me an' it's gettin' a bit worn."

He paused, swaying a little even as he sat there, then shook his head as though to clear his processor.

"An' fifth an' last, I guess I gotta put myself on report for lecturin' a superior officer. Can't get Prowl t'do it wit' him laid up like he is, so can I just do a verbal or you really want it in writin'?"

Optimus smiled in spite of himself.

"Transgression noted. In your defence I suppose I would point to abnormal stress as a mitigating factor. Shall we let it go at that, or do you really want me to punish you?"

Jazz gave him a wan smile.

"If I can do the punishment while rechargin', go for it."

"Go and recharge. I'll put Perceptor on watch in your place."

Jazz's gaze sharpened.

"I thought 'Ceptor had other duties?"

"You have a problem with that? What exactly happened in the repair bay that has you and Prowl so riled up at him?"

Jazz sighed.

"Aid had to kick him out even before they started working on Ratchet, and then he just hid in his quarters. Didn't come out to help against Devastator. Didn't come out when you lot all got back. An' then had the base metal to claim it was _our_ fault for assignin' him a task he wasn't suited to." He paused, thoughtfully. "Prob'ly didn't help Prowl's temper, actually. I wonder what he assigned as a punishment."

"You left it to Prowl, then?"

Jazz looked at him innocently.

"He reports to Prowl."

In other words no, but Jazz had no intention of explaining what he had done.

"Well I'll leave that situation to the two of you." Optimus dismissed the matter. "But I need a senior on duty, so he'll just have to fit in his other tasks around that. Get some rest, Jazz. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

The saboteur left and Optimus looked down again at the pile of reports on his desk, then made a decision. Petty, perhaps, but well within his rights.

"Optimus Prime to Perceptor. Report to my office: I have some work for you."

* * *

"Jazz?"

He groaned as he felt the recharge cable being disconnected. Surely this was a joke?

"This'd better be really good." he warned.

There was no immediate answer to the threat, but then he felt a warm and very familiar body fitting itself smoothly against his own. Onlining his optics, he dimmed them again almost immediately as Prowl leaned down over him to press their foreheads together in the traditional gesture of intimacy.

"You're needed." the tactician apologised, even as his proximity stirred Jazz's circuits.

With anyone else the move would have been contradictory to the words - a wordless request to remain berth-bound and share more than just the surface they laid upon - but he knew better. They had learned vorns ago that between bondmates physical contact was the quickest way to boost flagging energy levels, and what Prowl was doing now was helping him to get up.

In only a few clicks, Jazz felt himself restored enough to carry on: it was only a temporary fix, but it would do for now. Even so he held out for a moment longer, savouring the feel of Prowl's body in his arms. Primus, there just had to be time sometime soon for more than a cuddle or he was going to go insane.

/Me too./ Prowl admitted, frustration leaking briefly through the bond before it was hidden again.

Somehow that helped, knowing he was not the only one suffering, and he sighed as he gave Prowl a weak push to prompt him to move.

"Alright, I'm up, I'm up. What's goin' on, anyway?"

"First Aid has been operating. Prime wants us present when he brings Ratchet back online."

Jazz toyed with the charging cable for a moment, feeling Prowl's bleak mood at that statement.

The necessity of their presence was simple to determine: if this had gone poorly, Prowl would have to begin developing new strategies and to begin the transfer of Ratchet's security access to First Aid. As for himself, he would have to find a way to maintain crew morale in the face of one of the worst catastrophes the Autobots had ever suffered. Knowledge was power, and the better the spin on a bad situation the less likely things would get out of hand.

"Shouldn't it take a bit longer to get that done? They won't miss me for a bit yet, will they? Not really."

Prowl simply looked at him and Jazz sighed and rose.

"Alright, I'm comin'. Lead the way."

They left the room together, walking in silence through quiet corridors. Unusual for this time of the day and he wondered whether there had been some kind of mass revolt from the crazy rescheduling that had been going on. He smiled at the thought, then sighed as he heard noise down a corridor to his left. Most mechs were probably back in the rec room, awaiting the news, he realised. It had become almost a tradition over the past few days, even though this time Sideswipe would not be there to report back. He would have to take on that duty himself, good news or bad.

"Problem?" Prowl asked, not slowing or looking at him.

"Nah." Jazz shook his head. "So. What's the deal? Why's Aid rushin' ahead with this?"

"Ratchet had developed a surgery plan and was unwilling to delay the procedure."

"Is Jack helping?"

"I believe he is present, but only as an observer."

"Better'n nothing. He's doin' it rough at the moment."

"His concern for his sparkmate is predictable." Prowl began mendaciously.

"He wants more." Jazz said lowly.

Prowl glanced across at him curiously at that comment but did not ask, and then they were out of time. Moving into the med bay, they found that the surgery was clearly complete. Wheeljack was hovering anxiously near the repair table where Ratchet was lying, still offline. There was still a gaping hole in the medic's head that made Jazz grimace to see it, but the trailing wires and tubes now seemed to be properly connected to various pieces of medical equipment rather than hanging loose, and First Aid did not seem concerned as he sorted his instruments into piles. Prime stood at the foot of the berth, watching as they entered, and Prowl led the way towards him.

"My apologies, Jazz, I suppose I found a punishment for your misdemeanours after all."

Prowl twitched at that, probably wondering what he had missed, but Jazz just shrugged.

"Fair enough, boss. So, Aid, how'd it go?"

First Aid looked up, his expression tense.

"As far as I know, it all went to plan. This was only the first of the five stages, but it's the one part where things could go very wrong. If this bit did not work, he'll never fully recover."

There was a couple of clicks of agonising silence, then Jazz stepped over to the nervous Protectobot and put an arm over his shoulder.

"You're good at your job, Aid, an' he trusts you. It'll be fine."

For a moment he thought the young medic was going to break down completely, but then the mech stiffened and straightened.

"Well of course it will be. There's no reason why it shouldn't. Now, I should bring him online. Excuse me."

First Aid turned to begin the activation sequence, and Jazz caught Prime's approving nod. Well, as morale officer it was his job. Still, he prayed to Primus he was not going to have to go back to the rec room in a few clicks and begin damage control.

"Alright." First Aid announced. "His systems are starting to reboot. We'll know in the next two minutes."

_Please, Primus_ , Jazz begged. _Please let this work._


	18. Epilogue: back to normality

_4 weeks later_

It was the middle of a quiet shift when Jazz appeared at the tactical office doorway.

"You wanted t'see me, Prowl m'man?"

"Yes I did." Prowl responded, not looking up from his work. "Have you seen Skyfire's report yet?"

Jazz didn't answer, heading over to Pinpoint's empty desk and sitting in the chair.

"Hear you moved this one on. Had enough of him, then?"

"Grapple required an administrative assistant for his new project."

Jazz smirked.

"An' did _Grapple_ think he needed the help?"

Prowl ignored the question.

"Have you read Skyfire's report?"

"Nope. Haven't seen it."

"I sent it to your terminal at the beginning of last shift."

"Ah. Haven't been at m'desk. Anythin' interesting in it?"

Prowl pointed to a particuar datapad on his desk, knowing full well the special ops officer could not have read his own copy or he would have heard about it. Jazz sighed.

"Couldn't y'just _tell_ me?"

Prowl considered trying to force him to read the dry report, but decided it was not worth the effort and leaned back in his chair.

"The third target was Cybertron. Skyfire saw Soundwave, Skywarp and Thundercracker go through."

"An' he didn't think to report it sooner?" Jazz demanded, jumping out of the chair to snatch up the pad and scroll through the content for the details he was now very much interested in.

"He claims to have tried to, but been unable to make contact." Prowl continued to summarise. "He did speak to Cosmos who told him that one of the Decepticon satellites had moved into a low orbit and was transmitting a jamming field in the direction of the _Ark_. He waited for the transmission to end, but while he was waiting the Decepticons returned and headed directly back to the _Nemesis_. Cosmos disabled the satellite then returned to his assigned orbital post. Given that their actions did not appear to be directly hostile, and since the main cost seemed to be to themselves in losing the use of the satellite, he decided that it was unlikely to be urgent to pass on the information until he returned. It is, after all, only an orn later and he does still tend to apply Cybertronian time units."

Jazz was silent, now intently absorbed in reading Skyfire's report, and Prowl took the opportunity to simply look at his bondmate. He had barely seen him since Ratchet had come online after that first bout of surgery; once it was established that the medic would almost definitely make a full recovery, there had been much to do.

A working party had been organised to go and help with clean-up at the battle site, and he had been assigned to lead it while Jazz had his own missions. He was not privy to the details because they were not official missions, but he had his suspicions that the saboteur had been doing what he did best. Between cleaning up messes and getting things back in order, they had both been busy. Now things were settling down again, though that did not necessarily mean more contact between the two of them, so quiet moments like this were important.

Jazz finally raised his head again ten minutes later.

"You want this investigated?"

"I believe it may be prudent to attempt to discern the purpose of recent unexplained events, yes, but I understand it may be difficult at this late stage. I suspect we have missed our opportunity. If there was an immediate threat, it would have been established by now: Megatron is rarely patient with his grand schemes."

"True." Jazz mused, setting the pad down on the desk and turning it off. "Well, we'll see. If I dig anythin' up, I'll let you know. So. Anythin' else?"

"Perceptor is working on the final section of archiving Optimus gave him. He has also completed the extra duties I had set him. I believe this matter is concluded?"

Jazz shrugged.

"Sounds fair enough. Aid doesn't seem t'be holdin' a grudge so no reason why anyone else should."

"Good. Then that is all."

Jazz nodded and turned to leave.

"See ya later, Prowler."

Except, of course, he wouldn't. There had been too many close calls, recently. Jazz would keep his distance.

The door closed and Prowl turned back to his own work without so much as a sigh. This was the life they lived, and there was work to be done.

* * *

Hoist gave a soft whistle of approval as he entered the repair bay.

"Wow. You must've been at this for hours."

First Aid looked up from where he was giving a workbench a final coat of polish. Around him, all of the surfaces were sparkling.

"I had some help. My brothers, and the twins."

" _Both_ of the twins? Wow."

"Yeah, but I didn't think I should question it. How did the armour replacement go?"

"You haven't seen him yet?"

First Aid just gestured around the room, and Hoist nodded in understanding.

"Oh, well last I heard he's still grumbling about it, but I think he's happy. It's not likely anyway, but there's no way he's going to have the same problem again - he's now got more armour round his CPU than most mechs have around their sparks. And I managed to do it without changing his design specs: that new alloy of Wheeljack's is wonderfully strong. Prime wants me to do the same for all the officers, then other key personnel including the gestalts so that's you too."

"Good idea. Next time we mightn't be so lucky. Did you hear whether...?"

The question was dropped as the door opened and they both turned to see Ratchet stride in. For a moment the senior medic just stared about himself, then he grunted.

"It'll only last until the next time the twins walk in, I'm sure. What do you need, Hoist?"

"Just checking out the clean up job. Welcome back."

Ratchet gave him a long look then grunted again and headed into his office, muttering something about schedules. Hoist grinned at First Aid.

"Remember this day. It's probably the only time you'll ever see Ratchet speechless."

"Just so long as I never again see him injured, that's good enough for me."

* * *

There wasn't actually anything to do at the repair bay today. Everything was spotless, and the maintenance schedules had been handled by First Aid who was showing remarkable competence. Perhaps it was time to start letting the Protectobot have more opportunities to work solo, he mused. In any case, after half an hour of sitting in his office doing nothing, Ratchet got up and headed away to the far end of the corridor to Wheeljack's lab. The inventor was fiddling with something at his bench, and Ratchet watched him silently for a moment before speaking up.

"I see everything's been put back in order here too, then."

"Ratch! I... uh, it's okay, nothing's going to blow up. At least, I don't think it should. I'm just trying to upgrade the speakers for the rec room stereo for Blaster."

"Carry on, Jack."

Wheeljack looked down at the components before him, doing nothing at all for a few moments, then shook his head and looked up again.

"Would it help if I said sorry again?"

Ratchet put his hands on his hips and frowned.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"If you don't stop this whole guilt-trip you're on soon I'm going to have to hit you. Hard."

"Oh." Wheeljack considered, then brightened. "Oh! Heh. Okay. Then we're okay."

"Yes, you glitch, we're okay."

"So I'll see you after your shift then?" Wheeljack asked hopefully.

"Actually, I thought I might leave First Aid in charge for a few hours and take a break. Primus knows I never do get away from here. Feel like going for a drive?"

"Yeah! I'll just finish wiring this up and I'll be right with you!"

Ratchet turned away and headed for the _Ark_ 's entrance to wait in the sunshine. Everything was fine. In fact, it was pretty much back to normal. Except...

 _Boom_.

He stopped, flinching.

" _JACK_!" he bellowed, not turning to look.

"'m okay." a muffled answer came. "Be right with you. Um... just need to find my arm..."

He offflined his optics for a moment. Yes, everything was definitely back to normal. Turning on his heel and brandishing his favourite wrench, he strode back down the corridor.

"Oh I'll find it for you, you glitch, don't you worry. And then I'm going to use it to tear the rest of you apart!"

* * *

Optimus nodded slowly, looking around.

"Yes, this looks good. Have you spoken to the land owners?"

"Yes."

"And they have agreed?"

"Well not exactly." Grapple mumbled, then continued quickly. "But it's a perfect site for the designs, particularly if we are really going ahead with the idea of a sparked fortress which will need both a stable foundation and easy access to energy stores..."

"Is this really a good idea, Optimus?" Ironhide asked uneasily.

"We do need more space. The _Ark_ was never intended to be a long-term base, and certainly not in the way we are using it now."

"No, but still. If we build a fort here, we'll have to permanently staff it. The Cons'll never stop attacking it."

"I understand your concerns, old friend, but as Prowl and Red Alert have both pointed out, the humans will be no safer if we leave _without_ building such a structure. We owe it to them to do this. Besides, I believe it is time that..."

He broke off as he received a text message from Prowl. Mindful of what the last one led to he opened it with some trepidation, then chuckled at the content.

"Prime?" Ironhide asked as Grapple gave him an annoyed look, likely finally realising no-one was listening to his sales pitch.

"It seems things are back to normal."

"Normal?" Grapple sniffed.

"Yes. We are needed back at base - Wheeljack has blown up his lab again."

"Not another accident already!" Ironhide groaned.

"No injuries, just a mess." Optimus assured him, then raised his voice so that the others around them would also hear. "We return to the _Ark_. Autobots - transform and roll out!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> ...except, it kind of isn't. Because there are several sequels planned, starting with "Pride" which should be up in the next week or so. So don't go away, I'll be right back with more!


End file.
